


Slow Burning Dreamer

by Breathing2nd



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adorable, Ballroom Dancing, Be Careful What You Wish For, Desk, Dreams, Emotions, F/M, Fade Dreams, Fade Sex, Fade Tongue, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Heartbreaking, I'm Not Ashamed, Internal Conflict, Love Triangles, Mages and Templars, Magic, Passion, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breathing2nd/pseuds/Breathing2nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isala Lavellan is caught between her growing feelings for her Commander, and the Wolf that stalks her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, in my first play-through of Inquisition I went in with an open mind as to whom I might romance. In the end, I chose Cullen and was very satisfied. I did, however, kiss Solas in the dream, but never agreed to take it further (I did go on to romance him in another play-through). I wondered, how far could a "dream" relationship have gone, if pushed? Would it be real? Would it just be physical? How would my Lavellan have dealt with romancing this human man while the mysterious and alluring elf pursued her in dreams? Especially if the elf was willing to take it a step further than the human?
> 
> Just a bit of fun really, exploring an idea. A nice distraction, if you will.
> 
> ***

It was never quite as cold as she thought it should be. Somehow the great, towering fortress of Skyhold managed to keep the chill of the mountain air at bay. With its high walls and deep courtyards, the stronghold maintained a temperate environment, despite the tensions building outside its ramparts. Even with the wound burning in the sky, Isala Lavellan felt a thousand miles away from the chaos she knew raged just outside the sanctity of Skyhold.

The sun was shining brightly over the snowy mountains that surrounded them and it bathed the bastion in warm, glistening light. The pale haired elf stood motionless on the battlements, her eyes closed as she basked in the warmth of the sunrise as it spilled into the fortress. Small wisps of her hair escaped the hold she kept it drawn back in to fly around her face in the crisp morning breeze. The air was fresher here, more pure than it had been even in Haven, even in the forests with her clan. It was as if a spell had been cast over this place and it lived within a dream all its own. After all, it had been Solas who had told her where to find the castle in the sky. She wondered if the elven mage knew more about this Skyhold than he cared to share. There seemed to be a great many secrets Solas had yet to share with his elvish brethren.

A scuff of footfall opened her eyes and she spun to find the Inquisition’s Commander Cullen turning on his heel as if to leave. He stopped mid-stride and greeted Isala with a soft nod of his head. His expression was somewhat timid and unsure, as if she’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Inquisitor.” He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. “I…didn’t mean to disturb you. I saw you out here and…”

“Thought you’d come say hello?” She offered. For someone so unyielding in battle and so certain in his command, Cullen was a lamb in situations that didn’t call for a firm hand. The elf smiled. It had been more than a month since he’d kissed her on the battlements and the entire encampment was still ablaze with rumors and gossip. She thought it had been bad when they’d caught her playing a friendly game of chess with the Commander. That was mild in comparison to what they’d started with a simple kiss. It wasn’t even that she was the Inquisitor and he their Commander, or even that she was an elf and he a human. No, it was her being a mage and him an ex-Knight Commander of the Templar Order that seemed to have everyone beside themselves. Now, when the ground was most unsteady between the mages and the Templars. Now, when they needed alliances more than ever.

Cullen ran a hand through his cropped blond curls and smiled quickly, but Isala could see the blood rushing to the surface of his cheeks. Humans always seemed to let their thoughts and feelings color their faces and this was perhaps even truer of the Commander.

“Yes, I mean no…I mean…” He sighed, his eyes lowering to the cold stone beneath them before he regained his composure. “Allow me to start over?” He asked softly, like a child might.

“By all means.” She didn’t hide the grin from him. Something about watching the usually stoic human squirm was endearing to the elf. Cullen visibly straightened and composed himself and then took a sure step toward her.

“Yes, Inquisitor, I saw you out here and thought I would bid you good morning,” he claimed another step but slowed as he grew closer. “But then as I drew closer I couldn’t think of anything else to say and I…” He sighed and the smile that pulled at the scar touching his lip was bashful. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

Isala took a calculated step in his direction, close enough to rest a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing just fine.” She praised. “And my name…is Isala. This is not the war table, Cullen.”

“I think I might be more comfortable if it were.” He admitted. There was a gentle uncertainty that made him seem like more of a man than the armor and orders ever could. In these quiet moments where it was just the two of them, he showed her a kind of vulnerability that she rarely saw in the Commander.

Isala let her fingertips trace the rivets in his gauntlet. The metal was cold and hard and hid so much of Cullen behind it. Even his fingers were covered in thick leather and Isala found herself wanting to know what his bare hands felt like against her skin.

“Do you always wear you armor?” The elf asked, a soft smile playing across her delicate features. Even Cassandra took a bit of the weight from her shoulders when they sought refuge in Skyhold, but Isala couldn’t recall seeing Cullen in anything outside of full battle gear.

“Of course.” Cullen answered quickly, his eyes following the short lines the Inquisitor was making across his arm, even if it was on the armor. “A good commander is always prepared." He licked his lips. “I would not want to be caught unawares.”

Isala smiled. “Do you sleep in it then?”

Cullen opened his mouth and closed it. A sigh and a smile transformed his face. “No.”

Isala found her own smile growing mischievous. She watched her fingertips as she drew them back down to the edge of his armor where it extended over his wrist and just over the top of his hand. She let her fingers drop to the soft, taught leather covering his hands and she traced a swirling line down to his knuckles.

“I should like to see that.” She mused, not looking at him until that very moment. She saw the heat creep up his neck and a darkness fill his warm brown eyes.

“Would you?” He asked softly, darkly and his demeanor suddenly changed.

“Just to be sure.” She goaded, her voice growing quiet as she laced her fingers through his.

“Are you doubting your Commander?” He teased, enveloping her hand with his fingers and gently drawing her against him.

“Never.” She whispered and tilted her chin up at the precise moment he lowered his lips to hers. With a kiss, the Commander could convey every nuance he fumbled in speech. He could be assertive and strong but always the gentleman. It was refreshing and exhilarating for the elf. She’d never been with a human before and so far, there was no denying this one’s appeal.

Isala felt warmth spread through her, coiling in her middle until it nestled into the very center of her like a delicious ache. She made a small, needy sound against the human’s lips. The sound muffled by his mouth as it moved over hers as if to devour it. Her free hand snaked across his chest, beneath the folds of fabric, searching for a break in his armor. She felt metal and leather and all manner of straps and buckles holding the exquisite armor steadfast, but there was no sneaking inside. A comforting thought, in a way. A rogue would find it very difficult to make a clean kill of the Commander. They would have had to go for a direct attack to his head and the last thing any assassin wanted was for you to see it coming.

The elf made a frustrated growl. She wanted to touch him. To feel bare skin, not cold armor. She wasn’t certain if Cullen shared in her desire, but he reacted to that sound with a sudden jerk of his arm, effectively tugging the Inquisitor against that cold armor and crushing her to him with his free arm. His tongue licked just inside her mouth, caressing behind her lip before sliding over hers. She opened her mouth, inviting the deepening of the kiss. That dull ache tightened like a fist until it almost hurt.

They had only shared one kiss before this and it had ignited rumor and gossip throughout the Inquisition. One innocent confession of attraction and suddenly Orlesian’s were discussing wedding colors. She had thought it ridiculous and fleeting. She had left for a mission not a week after that first kiss and had only just returned in the small hours of the morning. She had hardly had any sleep at all. It was the first time she had seen the Commander in weeks. The first time she had touched him since that initial exchange. She hadn‘t been sure it could last. That one kiss could be better than another. That he could set her blood on fire the same as if it were the very first kiss, but the Commander never did anything halfway. He either gave all of himself or none.

There was a soft creek somewhere to their left and Cullen broke away and turned briskly on his heels. Isala could just see the young scout wincing in the doorway leading out to the bastion. He may have been the same poor recruit who had interrupted them the first time. She wondered if his Maker would be merciful, because she could almost feel the anger bristling over Cullen, like a porcupine readying its quills.

“Commander…uh…” The young man was almost visibly shaking. Isala felt a little giggle bubble up from somewhere in her throat. She couldn’t help it. The sound seemed to relax some of the tension in Cullen’s shoulders and the ex-Templar let go of a calming sigh.

“What is it?” Cullen asked briskly.

“You told me to fetch you sir, once Sister Liliana was ready to discuss those reports…sir.” The recruit looked to be almost bracing himself. Smart man.

“Yes…right…so I did.” Cullen sounded disappointed and Isala didn’t try to hide the smile that notion caused.

“Shall I tell her you’ll be along shortly?” The recruit hedged nervously.

“Yes, alright…go on.” Cullen waved the young man away and the boy seemed both relieved and anxious to be gone. The door he’d come through gave an audible sound as it closed behind him and Isala straightened against the battlements.

 _Well, I suppose you have to be going then._ It was what she had been about to say. That is, before Cullen whirled back around and snatched her against him at the waist. She managed a slight gasp of surprise before even that was silenced by the crush of his mouth against hers. One thing was certain to the elf; the man knew how to kiss a girl. She felt her legs go weak just as every tiny hair stood up along her arm and that delicious warmth clenched hard and relentlessly at her center.

Cullen drew back breathlessly and smiled a sheepish sort of smile. Once again, he’d allowed his passions to ruffle his usually stoic demeanor, but Isala wasn’t complaining. This was a version of the Commander she wanted to see more of…intimately. After all, if the man could kiss like this, what else could he do? The thought alone sent a shudder through her and before she could stop herself she was licking her lips like a hungry wolf.

“I think Liliana can wait.” Isala murmured, nuzzling her cheek against the human’s chin. It was a little rough with stubble, but the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. Cullen’s smile widened before he lowered his forehead to butt softly against hers.

“If only that were true. She’ll have a flock of ravens perched on this bastion if I’m not along shortly.” The Inquisitor made a sound that was almost like a whine but Cullen only chuckled at the mild complaint. “I am glad you returned safely.” He breathed, his lips just out of reach due to the angle.

“Did you miss me, Commander?” She asked coyly. Cullen drew his face away just enough to gaze at her fully.

“What do you think?” He prompted softly, echoing her coy smile with one of his own. She felt the smirk twisting along her mouth as he pulled away and she resisted the urge to pull him back. It was so tempting and yet, she knew she couldn’t, at least, not right then. He had a duty to uphold and she had an inquisition to run. Every time she returned from the field there was always a thousand things waiting for her. A thousand people. A thousand letters. A thousand questions. A thousand things she fell inept at and ill-equipped to handle, and yet, that did not make them go away. She was, after all, the Inquisitor. She had accepted the title and had to live up to it. No matter how much she might have wanted to lose herself in anything, or in Cullen’s case, anyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little later in the evening, the Inquisitor is just unwinding with her companions over a drink or two or five...

“So Varric is trying to help me yank this chunk of obsidian out from the side of this boulder, and we can literally feel the heat on our necks from this dragon. Suddenly, we hear Bull scream ‘I’m going to rip it a new asshole!’ and go rushing off like a madman.”

“Madman might be putting it kindly, Inquisitor.” Varric corrected as he lowered the stein from his lips.

The Iron Bull set his hefty glass down with an audible sound onto the wooden table. “It’s okay to admit that you were too afraid of getting your small hairs singed, Varric.” The large Qunari chuckled.

Varric flashed him a look that said the event had been anything but amusing, but it was the Inquisitor who piped up, “It was a dragon, Bull…we were armed with mining equipment.”

“Last time I checked, Inquisitor, _you_ could throw fireballs too.” The Iron Bull teased before taking another swig of his ale.

“Yes, well, try to rip me a new arsehole and your small hairs will be the least of your worries.” Isala warned playfully.

The Qunari mercenary choked back his drink and laughed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. It was enough to loosen the laughter from everyone sitting around the table until the entire party was holding their sides to keep them from splitting.

“Is that who I think it is?” Varric asked around the dying laughter. Isala turned her head to glance back at the tavern entrance where the dwarf was facing. Solas entered the room and moved through it without sparing a second look at anyone in particular. The Inquisitor wasn’t even sure he actually made eye contact with anyone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in here.” Isala commented, turning back to face her comrades as the mysterious elf made his way to one of the kitchen staff.

“Do we invite him over?” The Iron Bull asked over his glass.

“Would he even consider it?” Isala asked, shamelessly watching as Solas bade something from the young woman delivering orders back to the kitchen. The poor human looked positively stricken as the elf made his requests. It was certainly an interesting display. Isala rarely saw humans shrink back from her kind. So often the roles were reversed, but not for Solas, it seemed. Without realizing it, the Inquisitor had begun to grin wickedly.

“Not the point. Should probably ask him anyway.” The Qunari muttered into the near empty stein around his mouth.

Isala blinked a few times and gazed back across the table, realizing that everyone was looking at her expectantly. “What?” She demanded. “You want _me_ to go?” When no one denied the request she went on. “Why? Because we’re both elves?” She asked indignantly. Isala pointed at Sera, where she sat with her feet propped up on the table and a slab of beef stuffed halfway into her jowls. “So is Sera.”

The blond elf shoved the rest of the meat into her mouth and her eyes focused suddenly, as if she’d only just tuned into the conversation. With her mouth full she scoffed and made an ugly sound of revulsion. Blackwall chuckled nearby, perhaps understanding the city elf more than the rest of them.

“No, not because you’re an elf.” Varric assured her. Isala raised a single eyebrow, not believing him for a second.

“He likes you.” The Iron Bull added. The Qunari was smirking and Isala did not like it.

“He does not.” She retorted a bit too quickly. She’d told no one of the kiss they’d had in that shared dream. She hadn’t even confronted the elf in question since it had occurred. It _had_ been a dream, hadn’t it? Just a dream? To think otherwise was…no, no she wouldn’t. It was a dream, nothing more.

“I think he’s right about that one.” Varric shrugged. Across the table, Sera was making vulgar gestures and kissing sounds to a hardboiled egg resting on her plate and Blackwall nearly choked on his own boisterous laughter. Isala rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever seen him smile at.” The Iron Bull offered. “Go on, invite him over. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Varric quipped.

Isala sighed and she made it long and irate. “Fine, I’ll go.” She muttered, downing the last of her wine in one long, continuous swig. She set the stein down with a thud and stood up from the table. Her pale, nearly white hair bobbed gently from where it was tied back as she crossed the softly lit tavern and toward her elven comrade. She licked her lips in anticipation, preparing to speak. Her mouth opened to utter his name an instant before he glanced over his shoulder and saw her. It was eerie, as if he’d anticipated her all the while.

“ _Lethallan_.” He greeted her warmly in Elvish and she saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips. She wondered if The Iron Bull had been right. Did he truly not smile for any other?

Isala clamped her mouth shut and hid her awkwardness behind an uneasy smile of her own. “Solas, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you inside the tavern before.” She blurted, suddenly unsure of what she had been about to say. Solas glanced around the busy room briefly as if taking stock of his surroundings for the first time. Isala watched as the steely color of his eyes warmed in the dim firelight. In her dream they had been warm too, but it had little to do with the lighting. It was the way he’d looked at her. As if she could do anything. As if she could change everything.

“That is probably because I rarely find myself here.” He answered matter-of-factly and Isala was jolted from her trance.

“Oh, well, um, we’re all having a drink, over there,” she pointed to the table she’d just come from. “…and, I thought perhaps you’d care to join us?” Isala smiled and held her breath.

Solas glanced in the direction of her table and then back at her. The human serving girl returned just then with a basket covered with cloth and handed it to the elf. Solas thanked her and turned fully in the Inquisitor’s direction.

“Thank you, but no.” Isala could smell fresh bread in the small basket. Was he coming to grab his dinner? Was that something special the kitchen made for him? What exactly was in there? _What does it matter?_ Isala wondered to herself.

“Oh, alright then.”

“Good night.” Solas quipped briskly and edged past the Inquisitor. Isala turned as he left and watched as he slipped out as inconspicuously as he’d come in. She began to trudge back toward her table where her friends awaited her. Varric shrugged. The Iron Bull was calling for more drinks. Sera had nearly laughed herself out of her seat and Blackwall seemed ever on the verge of cracking a smile.

“Perhaps he doesn’t drink?” Isala offered as she reclaimed her seat.

“Who the hell doesn’t drink?” The Iron Bull bellowed and pushed her another stein brimming over with wine. She lifted the glass up in a toast that her comrades echoed. Sera cackled something about eggs and slipped out of her chair. Laughter erupted around them and Isala drank down the good wine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several drinks with her companions, the Inquisitor is on her way to her quarters when she has a run in with Cullen. Made bolder with alcohol, Isala tries to convince the Commander to escort her into her bed...
> 
> ***

“There we go, last step.” Varric encouraged. His arm braced the lithe frame of the elven Inquisitor and helped her up to the landing of Skyhold’s Great Hall. A couple hours and several drinks later and Isala was glad for the dwarf’s help. She might have had trouble making it across the courtyard, let alone up all the stairs.

“Varric, how is it that you drank so much more than I did and yet, I’m the one needing assistance?” Isala warbled as they passed through the large, open doors.

Varric chuckled and gave a short shrug of his shoulders as he let go of her waist and began toward his little nook just inside the doors. “I’m convinced dwarves don’t have livers. That, and you weigh what? Six stones soaking wet?” He chuckled again and drew closer to the nearby fireplace.

“I weigh more than that! I’ll have you know.” Isala retorted, but it only furthered the dwarf’s amusement.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Inquisitor.”

"Speaking of sleep…good night, Varric.” She gave a short wave to her friend and made her way toward her own quarters. She could hear him echo her farewell as she walked away.

The halls were warmer the closer she came to her throne. She knew the staircase leading up to her room would be chilled slightly, but she was fairly certain she’d closed her balcony door and that her actual bedroom would be warm enough. With all the doors and windows that were always left aloft, along with the restorations that were still underway, she wondered how any part of Skyhold managed to hold any warmth at all.

“ _Magic_.” She giggled to herself.

She was still smiling when a door opened to her left and figure stepped out, turning to take care in quietly closing the door. When he turned back around Cullen scarcely saw the Inquisitor before she nearly ran right into him. His arms were out in an instant. Papers he’d been holding scattered to the floor. He caught her in mid stumble and in one sharp breath, she was in his arms.

“Oh, pardon me…Inquisitor?” Cullen babbled as he juggled her weight easily in his strong arms. He gazed down at the slender elf he’d caught against him and felt a soft smile beginning on his lips. She was grinning, her cheeks flushed with as much color as he’d ever seen in them. Her striking turquoise eyes were stunning in the warm firelight and her pale hair seemed to glow. A few wisps of her hair had even managed to escape the bind she kept it back in to frame her face. She gazed up at him with a look that made him wonder if this was how she appeared in the first rays of dawn. He imagined her briefly with all that pale hair framed against his pillows as the sunrise spilled in through his window.

Cullen shook the fantasy free from his thoughts and straightened them both. “Maker’s breath, I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?” He asked, his hands resting against her body. He braced her back with one while the other cradled the curve of her hip. Her hands were pressed against his chest, splayed wide across the armor. He remembered those delicate fingers tracing the etching on the metal only just that morning.

“Better now.” Isala purred. She liked the way his hands felt against her body. They were large and warm and strong. She wanted to know what they felt like against her bare skin. She wanted them pinning her to her bed, fingertips gripping so tightly they left faint bruising in the morning. The elven Inquisitor licked her lips as her mouth went suddenly dry. “You’re up late.” The words came out breathy as she fought to compose herself.

Cullen’s hands loosened and fell away from her body, though he didn’t put any distance between them. Isala kept her hands up, but allowed them to follow the intricate path of paneling that was the Commander’s chest plate. She stopped as her fingertips grazed the top of the deep, almost wine colored, fabric that crossed his torso and disappeared into the taught belts at his waist. How long must it have taken to get out of such garments? She would have to ask Cassandra or Blackwall sometime. They were more versed in heavy armor than she was. Even the warriors of her clan did not have near to this many layers.

“Yes, well there has been some activity to the west that needed discussion and there were reports…” Cullen watched as her fingertips traced the gold embroidery that lined the fabric crossing his middle. Her hands were so delicate, but her movements were specific, expert, and distracting. “I won’t trouble you with the details, Inquisitor. It is late, as you said.”

“Isala.” She corrected. A single digit followed the shape of his belt buckle.

"Isala.” He echoed, his voice going soft as he breathed her name. She liked the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. Humans had a habit of butchering elvish words and names, but Cullen took care with her language, choosing to avoid saying it altogether if he felt he couldn’t say it properly.

“Escort me to my quarters?” She asked suddenly, gently, her eyes flicking toward the door that led up to her room. Cullen’s eyes followed hers and his mouth opened and closed as he thought it through. She could see the heat creeping up his collar and his eyes darted quickly to the floor. She saw him acknowledging the scattered papers he’d lost when they had nearly collided. She saw him considering her request, could almost see the struggle waging behind his warm, brown eyes. The elf didn’t wait for his reply. She let her hands spread out to slide up the edges of the tunic the Commander wore and she gently tugged him forward. Isala walked backwards, carefully climbing the short steps, while she pulled Cullen slowly along. She watched him moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue, heard him breathe the soft considerations of protest as he glanced back only once before they reached her doorway. He opened his mouth as if to speak the moment she reached behind her and opened the large wooden door. She pulled him as before as she stepped back into the entryway of her quarters. She felt him hesitate for a moment and knew that if he didn’t wish to come inside, she did not possess the strength or size to force the matter.

“Do you not wish to come inside?” She asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

“It’s not that…I…” His voice trailed off into uncertainty and Isala felt him balancing on the precipice of retreat.

“Do I frighten you?” She inquired, her own voice faltering and becoming unsure. The Commander’s eyes focused on her immediately.

“Of course not!” He said quickly. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to follow her, but what was to come next? Would it be proper of him? Would it be respectful to her? Cullen cursed his concerns and as she subtly tugged at him again. He let her, crossing the threshold of her door and into the landing at the base of her staircase. The door closed audibly behind them and echoed off the stone walls. Isala spared a single glance at the steps before them before deciding they were too many and she was impatient.

“This will do.” She muttered beneath her breath before pushing roughly against the human’s chest. The armor did not give beneath her fingertips, but the Commander did retreat against the sturdy wooden door. His back hit it roughly and he opened his mouth to question her sudden movements when her lips sealed over his. The kiss was urgent and demanding. Cullen made a sound as if he’d been caught off guard but his body reacted instantly. His arms knew precisely how to hold her, bracing the small of her back and the nape of her neck. Her slender hands cradled his face first but then slid behind his neck to draw him closer. She kissed him as if she could drink him down or crawl inside him. She kissed him like a drowning thing tasting air for the first time. There was such a need in the press of her lips, the flicks of her tongue against his own, as if she might die without his touch.

Cullen felt his own body react to her advances. His heart began to race, heat swept up his neck and across his cheeks, a dull ache began low in his middle as his pants grew tight across the front. They broke the kiss only to draw labored breaths.

“ _Maker_.” Cullen swore softly as the Inquisitor bit gently at his lower lip. A feminine hand snaking down between them to glide over the taught press of him beneath his pants. She found him there, hard and ready but still sheathed behind the buttery soft leather. Her hand stroked the length of him and the sensation was dulled but not lost with the clothing acting as a barrier. The Commander groaned around her mouth as she rubbed against him, her hand looking for a way inside the leather pants.

Outside, in the Great Hall, a door echoed shut and a cultured voice called out to Cullen. It was Josephine, apparently having forgotten to get his seal on some sort of document. Isala could hear her fretting about the scattered papers, calling out to Varric, asking if he’d seen the Commander. Cullen hesitated, his lips parted over hers. Isala’s hand still gripped him against the leather, her thumb making small circles that were almost too much to bear.

“Come upstairs with me.” She breathed across his mouth. Her tongue darting out to trace a teasing line over his bottom lip. She could hear Varric drawing closer. Could hear him telling the Ambassador that he’d just seen Cullen speaking to the Inquisitor a few moments before. They weren’t far from her door now. Any moment they’d probably come knocking.

“I…can’t.” Cullen groaned.

“You can.” The elf protested, stealing another kiss from his willing mouth. Cullen closed his eyes and drew his hands from around her slender form. He placed them on either side of her shoulders and she stilled. The Commander opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

“It is not that I do not want to.” He lowered his forehead to hers and closed his eyes again, trying to calm his body and compose himself once more.

“Then what’s stopping you?” The Inquisitor asked, her voice losing the purr of seduction it had been carrying. Defeat was creeping in now and her hands lowered to her sides. She could hear Josephine just outside her door, debating with Varric over whether it was proper etiquette to come inside or simply knock and then debating on whether the knock could even be heard.

Isala sighed. She already knew the answer. “Never mind. Duty calls, I suppose.” She murmured, drawing away from him slowly. Cullen let her. He opened his mouth to utter something but all he could managed was, “Inquisitor?” The elf raised a hand to stop him before he could say anything more.

“It’s alright, Commander.” She retorted, though her voice was distant as she used his title. “Go sign you document. I’m going to bed.” She’d already begun up the stairs before he could reach for her. She didn’t wait for his response, if there even was one to be had.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Isala, what are you doing...

She was certain she had tracked it to this area. It couldn’t be far away now. Why she’d even bothered going after it, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she just needed to get some fresh air. Perhaps she needed to get away from Skyhold after the evening she’d had. Perhaps she just didn’t want wolves stalking her camp, even if it was inside a fortress. Whatever the reason, she’d followed it here. She wasn’t sure how far down the mountain she’d gone. It wasn’t as if the air had grown warmer or anything. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite. A cold gust of icy wind threatened to dislodge the hood from her cloak as it bellowed through her garments like they were paper. She stifled a shiver as snowflakes fell and melted on her nose and lips. At least her ears were covered.

She’d followed it to a small circle of trees. There was a stream still flowing despite the frigid temperatures and she was sure that in summer months, the area was probably lovely. As it was, there was only snow and moonlight surrounding her. At least the moon was large and full, and at this elevation, it bathed the earth in so much light, the snowy blanket clinging to everything seemed to glow.

She’d brought a bow. Though the near weightless weapon felt almost alien in her hands. Her father had taught her to shoot when she was still just a small child. The lessons had focused on how to properly grasp the bow. How taught to hold the string. Where to place the arrow. How to breathe and when to let the arrow fly. He had died before he’d been able to finish the lessons. She wasn’t even sure why she’d grabbed the weapon. She was no expert with a bow, after all.

A rustle of movement out of the corner of her eye and Isala realized the bow had been a mistake. The air just above the palm of her hand tingled to life as she pulled in snowflakes and moisture to circle around in wait. A winter spell would be easiest to conjure, though something with a flame may have been more welcome with the temperatures such as they were. A twig snapped to her left and she spun, the incantation leaping from her fingertips, driven by pure instinct. The moment she’d let it fly, however, she wished she hadn’t.

She opened her mouth to scream his name in warning when she saw the glyphs of a barrier glow against the ground beneath him and spring up to block the spell she’d thrown. Her spell crashed against the barrier with the sound of chimes on its heels as it dissipated into snow and ice. Solas walked through the little cloud of residual magic with the glow of his barrier emanating briefly from his body.

“ _Ir abelas,_ Solas!” She apologized quickly, crossing the short space toward him. “I thought you were something else.” Isala stopped within arm’s reach of the taller elf and looked him over. “You’re not harmed? That was stupid of me to do.” There were no signs of frostbite that she could make out and his tunic didn’t even seem to be damp. Still, she’d attacked an ally heedlessly and the shame was going to gnaw at her.

Solas glanced from the Dalish woman before him to the bow in her hand. “Yes, a bit foolish, but no harm.” He gave her a brief smile of assurance then asked, “You were out hunting?” His eyes paid particular attention to her face as she worked out the answer. Her eyes darting to the bow in her slender hands.

“Oh…this? Yes, well I…” She couldn’t seem to work out the specifics of how she’d come to be in the place other than the fact that she’d been tracking a wolf here. “I was tracking a wolf.” She echoed her own thoughts aloud. Solas quirked a single, dark eyebrow and glanced around.

“I saw no wolves.” He prodded. Suddenly, Isala felt more foolish than when she’d thrown the ice spell.

“Well, then perhaps you frightened it off?” The Dalish retorted, moving to seat herself against a large bolder nearby. The stone was cold, even with the thick cloak acting as an extra layer.

“Perhaps I did.” He murmured, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against a narrow tree trunk. His weight hardly shook the snow from the thin branches and Isala felt her mouth go dry as she watched a soft dusting of the frozen water fall in a slow mist around the male elf. He made her think of magic long lost whenever she looked at him. She couldn’t explain it, but there was something positively hypnotic about the strange elf.

Isala looked down at the borrowed bow in her hands and stuck one end into the dense snow beside the bolder. “No matter. I wasn’t going to catch anything with this in any case.”

“I did not know you could wield a bow.” Solas commented.

“I think there are probably a great many things you don’t know about me.” Isala stated. Her voice was teasing as she slid the hood back from her head revealing her pale, almost white hair. It was down and the bottom third touched her shoulders in soft, curling waves. She scarcely wore it down other than for washing it or sleeping. There was too great a chance of it being singed in a fight or of it obscuring her vision should the wind blow the wrong way.

Solas stared at her where she sat perched on the large bolder. He’d never seen her with her hair down. It looked almost stark against the deep, heavy blue of her cloak, but with the frame of snowfall around her, she had become something ethereal. Her ears peeked out like a secret from soft waves of the palest possible blond. Her _vallaslin_ decorated her forehead like a ghostly circlet forever etched into her skin. He almost didn’t notice the symbols that touched her chin just below her bottom lip. The markings referred to Ghilan’nain, mother of the halla, but even as _vallaslin_ went, they were faint.

She gave him a look that said she’d caught him staring but Solas recovered quickly. “So it would seem.” He pushed away from the tree he’d been leaning against and lowered his hands. There was room enough on the massive rock for the two of them and she did no shy away from him when he sat next to her, though she did watch his every movement with her breath held in wait.

Her brightly colored eyes focused on his face as he became eyelevel with her. “What about you? What brings you out at this hour? I thought you loved sleeping.” She mused.

Solas smiled wistfully. “I do, but I enjoy the quiet here in the small hours.”

“So you’re just out for a stroll? Aren’t you cold?” Isala asked, noting that the bare-faced elf had no extra layers on to chase back the cold, nor any shoes for that matter.

Again, that soft smirk decorated his handsome face. “I’m fine.”

"Of course you are.” Isala muttered, looking away. She gazed out at the quiet, feeling suddenly awkward.

“You are restless.” Solas said absently.

“Am I?” Isala asked, refocusing her gaze on him.

“Yes. It is why you convinced yourself to needlessly hunt a wolf.”

“It was too close to camp.” She argued.

“With a bow?” Solas chided.

Isala opened her mouth to debate it further but closed it. He was right. He always seemed to be right about her. She hadn’t been able to find sleep and had instead wrapped a cloak around her nightgown and found herself wandering. The bow had been an afterthought. The wolf, a strange coincidence.

"Are things not as you would like them to be with the Commander?” Solas asked, but he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Isala’s attention snapped to the other mage in an instant.

“What? Why should that be…” Solas was staring at her with raised brows. His expression looked to be on the verge of breaking into laughter. “Am I that obvious?” Isala asked.

“Not truly, no, but your frustration is apparent to someone who knows what they are witnessing.”

The Inquisitor sighed. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I’ve never been with a human before and there seems to be a…oh I don’t know what it is. Perhaps he’s simply never been with someone as forward as I am?”

Solas was still smiling. “Or perhaps he’s never been with an elf.”

Isala let her eyes roll up to gaze at the strong jaw and sharp cheekbones of the male elf at her side. Usually, she would have preferred men with a supple coif of hair to run her fingers through. So many men in her clan had longer hair than even she did, but she found that she didn’t mind that Solas had none. His face was striking enough that it didn’t matter.

“Have you ever been with a human?”

“No.” He replied quickly, evenly, and without hesitation.

Isala smirked and nudged him with her shoulder. “Purist.” She teased and Solas rewarded her with the focus of his stare and a playful tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I simply know what I enjoy…and want.” She wasn’t sure if the last was a jab, but she felt it all the same. Her smile faltered as she remembered the kiss they’d shared in her dreams. She’d kissed him first. Drawn in by his familiarity and his strangeness all-the-same. He felt like home and like everything forbidden in one breath. It was almost too much at times.

“Solas…” She began and he stood suddenly, his back to her.

“Don’t.” He warned. “You told me I should forget and I am trying to honor that request.”

Her fingers were raised as if she might touch him, but she resisted. “ _I_ haven’t forgotten. I can’t seem to, even as I try.” She admitted. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to say it aloud.

“It was wise of you to caution against it. You are with Cullen now and we should leave things as they are. It will be best for everyone.” He still wouldn’t look at her and her hand itched to turn him toward her.

“ _With_ seems a strong word…” her eyes fell toward the snow covering her feet. “We hardly have a moment alone together and even when we do the man can’t stop calling me _Inquisitor_. I feel as though I make him uncomfortable more often than not and that my forward advances are unwanted.”

“I am certain that is not the case.” Solas reassured her, but Isala couldn’t calm the knot twisting inside her stomach.

“In my clan things were simpler. I took lovers but did not need to love. There was no hole in the sky reminding me that each day could be my last. No world shattering evil to force me to remember how very fragile life…and love…can be.” She said the last at barely more than a whisper and Solas seemed to raise his head and look up, though he still faced away.

“You fear love?” He asked softly.

“I fear losing it.” She confessed.

“You do not love Cullen?”

“I do not know.” She answered honestly, afraid of what it might mean if she did. “I care for him but it’s too soon…and I think I could…” She heard Solas sigh and she stood ready to reach out to him when he spun to face her.

“I will not ask.” He was so close. “Knowing will not change anything. It cannot.” His eyes were like Lazurite, steely and blue. “Leave it be, Isala.” The elvish syllables of her name rolled off his tongue like honey.

“You leave it be.” She demanded, taking a step into him, forcing them to be nearly nose to nose. “You followed me here.” She accused, somehow confident that he hadn’t been out in the middle of the night for a simple stroll.

Solas smiled approvingly, though it didn’t last. “Well done, Inquisitor.” She was tiring of even her closest companions calling her by her title. “I’ll leave you now.” He face turned away first as he prepared to walk away but Isala caught his cheek as she had in Haven, though she managed to speak this time instead of kissing him.

“Don’t.” She said firmly and Solas stared into her eyes with something teetering on the edge of anger. His mouth claimed hers with greedy intent, his hands finding her small waist beneath the cloak to jerk her against his body. She let him kiss her, sliding her hand along his cheek to brace the back of his neck. Her free hand wrapping around his shoulder and clinging tightly. He parted her lips with the press of his tongue and she opened her mouth for him willingly. The feel of his mouth exploring hers with teeth and tongue made things low in her body tighten in anticipation. She felt him leading her backwards until her backside hit the cold, unmovable surface of the bolder. He leaned into her, deepening the kiss until she moaned around his mouth and that only seemed to frenzy him further. She felt a hand snaking around the folds of gauzy fabric that made up the skirt of her nightgown. He splayed his fingers wide and slid that same hand up the length of her hip, taking the delicate fabric with him. Isala turned her hip out, opening that leg to let him nestle in its crook, urging him further against her. She heard him make a sound of frustration. His fingers balled the bit of garment into his fist and he ceased kissing her with his mouth poised and open against hers. Their breath fogged in the frigid air and Isala felt the adrenaline leaving her cold.

“It cannot be more than this.” Solas sighed against her lips, kissing her softly then. “It cannot be more than a fleeting dream.”

Isala opened her eyes then. Looking into his much sadder ones. “A dream?” She whispered, the realization hitting her hard enough to begin pulling her away. Their dream slipping through her mind like water though her fingers.

She awoke with a start with the weight of a pillow slipping down her form. Her sheets were a tangled mess around her bare legs and the brisk morning air was bellowing the curtains around her open balcony doors. It had been a dream. Another dream, nothing more. She touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the heat of the other elf’s mouth lingering there. A dream, but no less real for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos are always appreciated. If you're digging my fanfic, perhaps consider checking out my original works :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rough night?...it just keeps getting better and better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite a while since I updated this fic. SORRY ABOUT THAT! It's actually a bit difficult to juggle this fic, my modern a/u fic, my books...etc, lol. In any case. This chapter is a bit short because of that, but I felt like if I didn't finish it, then I was never going to get it up. Hope you guys are still digging it.

She was tired. More than tired, it seemed. Sleep had not found her again. Her mind had been too busy to rest and now she stood in the vast room that held her war table unable to stop yawning. Her pale hair was tied back but somehow crooked. She’d skipped a button on her tunic, leaving an awkward shift in the fabric that she scarcely noticed. In her hands she gripped a steeping cup of tea so black it looked unhealthy.

The sun poured into the room and she swore she could hear the sound of cheerful birds sweeping back and forth from the windows. Both were grating in their own ways. Just as this meeting would be its own sort of annoyance. Why did Josephine insist on meeting so early if she wasn’t going to be the first one to arrive? Isala rarely arrived before her three advisors, but today, she stood alone in the large space, waiting. The map of Ferelden and Orlais spread out before her with various pins, daggers, metal and wooden figures lining its cities and outlying lands. There were a few scrolls piled up on either side of the table, some more unraveled than others. Her fingers reached out and brushed against one of the little metal horses as she brought her tea to her lips.

“Don’t let Josephine see you doing that. The woman will have a fit.” Cullen’s warm, masculine voice filled the room as he entered through the massive doors behind her. Isala smiled to herself, wrapping that sound around her, but Solas’ voice cut through her thoughts. _You do not love Cullen?_ Guilt swelled within her and she shook the confusing dream from her mind.

Isala turned halfway around to greet the human Commander. “Perhaps I’ll move one only slightly. That would drive her mad wouldn’t it?” The elf teased. Cullen smiled as he came to stand on the opposite side of the large table. He was dressed as he always was, as if enemy soldiers could begin pouring through the gates at any moment. She thought, perhaps he had lied about not sleeping in his armor. It seemed impossible that he should get himself in and out of it every morning and night. Isala could scarcely button a single garment.

“Or better, exchange one of the metal horses for a wooden one. The change is hardly a thing, but it will be enough to ruffle her…ruffles?” Cullen lifted an eyebrow, his brown eyes suddenly full of mischief. The Commander reached across the table at the same moment Isala’s hand moved to swap the pieces. Their fingers brushed against one another, though his were clad in leather, but still, it garnered a similar reaction from both. Isala and Cullen drew their hands back instinctively and Cullen cleared his throat.

Isala ignored the exchange. “Playing a prank on our Ambassador, Commander? Sera would be proud.” The elf smiled and took another sip of her tea. Cullen made a sound that reminded the Inquisitor of something Cassandra would do. It bordered on disgust.

“Just following our Inquisitor’s lead.” He admonished and quickly swapped the pieces. His eyes gazed up at her from the table. There was a playfulness in them that she adored. A boyish charm that spread warmth through her. Cullen had a way of putting her at ease, without her even realizing it.

His smile faltered a little and he stood straighter. “Inqu—Isala, about last night…”

“Cullen, don’t.” She held up a hand to silence him. “Just let it be.”

“I want to explain.” He pushed, and Isala let him feel the full weight of her eyes. The Commander, however, was unwavering beneath her stare. “I feel as if I may have given you reason to think your advances are unwanted.”

Isala’s gaze fell then. She couldn’t keep looking him in the eyes if _this_ was what he wanted to talk about. The whole ordeal had been awkward enough without him trudging it back up for discussion.

“They’re not.” Cullen continued, his voice gentle and kind.

The Inquisitor’s gaze rose once more to the Commander as he slowly moved out from behind the table. She tried to hide her expression behind her tea cup, taking a slow sip to keep from saying anything. She wanted to hear this.

“Perhaps ill timed, but not unwanted.” He took a step toward her and she felt her blood pressure spike. She thought she might break the delicate tea cup from holding onto it too tightly. She wanted to go to him and bury herself against his warmth and strength. Creators help her, but there was something about this human that set her blood aflame and left her body aching.

“What was ill timed? I was certain of the hour.” Josephine’s cultured voice fluttered into the room in a whirlwind of silk and ruffles.

Cullen straightened and cleared his throat, while Isala spun to face her Ambassador as she strode into the room. She felt her cheeks flaming, though she didn’t know why and could scarcely hide the grin behind her tea cup.

Josephine stopped just short of the war table and glanced from the Inquisitor to the Commander. She gave them both a thoughtful once over before smiling in the awkward silence.

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve interrupted something?” She asked, slowly glancing from one member of the council to the other. Isala gave her best shrug, while Cullen made his way back to the other side of the war table.

“Because you probably did, Josie.” Leliana slipped into the room from an almost hidden side door. Had she remained quiet, none would have even noticed her enter. The spymaster was smiling like she had a secret and Isala felt her stomach do a little flip as she neared. Leliana helped Josephine with the small box she carried in her free hand and the look she gave the Ambassador wasn’t lost on the Dalish elf. “This won’t be enough to smooth things over with her.” Leliana cautioned before bringing the box to her nose and taking a long draw from it. The redhead’s eyes closed as a satisfied smile spread across her lips. “Mmmm, but they do smell divine.”

“Smooth what over? With whom?” Isala asked.

Josephine shooed Leliana away from the small box and gave the Inquisitor a broad smile. It was the one she used to hide behind and Isala’s eyes narrowed.

“Josephine.” She said her name like a warning, and the Antivan woman sighed.

“It’s nothing so terrible as it seems.” Josephine answered quickly as Leliana carried the little box to the table and set it down.

The Dalish Inquisitor raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “You never bring sweet cakes unless it’s something terrible.” She grumbled, already not liking where all this was heading.

The Ambassador sighed, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “I don’t? I don’t believe that.” She glanced from the Inquisitor to Leliana and finally to Cullen. The look on all of their faces said otherwise and Josephine conceded. “Alright, so the cakes were poor gesture, but it’s really not that bad.”

“Out with it, Josephine.” Isala hated beating around the bush. If there was a fire she needed to put out, she would have rather known about it right up front, before it could spiral out of control.

“We’ve received new reports of rift activity and the local Bann is requesting the assistance if the Herald herself.”

Isala didn’t try to mask the sigh that fell from her lips. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

“I just---”

“You only just returned. I know, Inquisitor, but the Bann would be a powerful ally for us. Especially for supporting Skyhold with food and supplies. I am certain it will only be a small thing to investigate these rifts and make your way back in time for your birthday.” Josephine spoke in an eloquent whirlwind. It must have been why the Nobles found themselves so undone by her silver tongue. Even Isala had almost missed the nuanced details within the Ambassador’s speech.

“Wait, did you say _birthday_?” Isala asked, her eyes focused once more on the Antivan’s. Josephine didn’t flinch beneath that cool stare. “ _My_ birthday?”

“Well who else’s?” Leliana beamed. Cullen’s face was thoughtful, as if he’d only just been told recently.

“Why does it matter when my birthday is?” Isala asked, suspicion heady in her voice.

"You may want to offer her one of those little cakes now, Josie.” The Spymaster teased and Isala watched the Antivan squirm a little beneath all those ruffles.

“Ah, well, I _may_ have told a few people.”

“A few?” Isala pressed.

“Well, only the most important received invitations, of course, and then there were the caterers, I had to tell them and---”

“Caterers?” Isala’s voice rose an octave or two and she fought to slowly, gently, place the tea cup down on the war table before she crushed it between her slender hands. Leliana stifled a giggle behind her hand and Cullen remained silent.

“Oh, don’t be upset, Inquisitor. Please? We wanted to do something for you. Show our appreciation for everything that you are doing for the Inquisition, for Thedas.” Josephine cooed. She could have calmed a dragon with her dulcet tones, but Isala wasn’t having it.

"So you throw a party? You think that I would want to spend my birthday cozying up to the local nobility?” The elf growled.

“A ball actually.” Josephine corrected.

Isala threw her hands up. “Oh, well that makes it _so_ much better.” She was shaking her head. She might have asked how they’d even found out when her birthday was, but with Leliana standing there, she already knew. As if fighting demons wasn’t bad enough. Now she had to entertaining people who hardly knew her as anything but the _Herald of Andraste_. She would have rather been fighting demons.

The Dalish woman pinched the space between her eyes and let go of a long sigh. “How long before we’ll need to leave to meet this Bann?”

“As soon as possible.” Josephine winced.

“Of course.” Isala scoffed. Never a moment’s peace.

“Inquisitor, I will cancel the ball if that is your wish.” Isala could hear the regret in Josephine’s voice, but she didn’t have the heart to tell her to undo what had already been set into motion. A ball might be exactly what some of the Inquisition needed to raise their spirits. A little food, wine and song could make all the difference in moral. Isala understood that and if they needed a reason for it, her birthday was as good as any other.

“No, you don’t have to do that Josephine. Thank you. I’ll do my best to get back in time for it.” The elf gave her Ambassador a weak smile and took the small box of sweet cakes into her hands. “I’ll just take this.” Normally, she loved the little treats, especially when they were fresh. Even so, she didn’t think even the petite confections could cheer her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are welcome and appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After clearing a neighboring Bann's lands of demons, Isala and her crew enjoy a friendly drink and an amiable chat around the fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I've been on crazy hiatus. I'm trying to write a little more often. Chapters might be shorter, but at least there will be chapters...Life, kids, several other stories...it gets busy sometimes :/

“You kicked the shit out of that demon, Boss!” The Iron Bull had hoisted a heavy stein of mead into the air over the crackling fire where Isala and her team sat huddled for warmth. They were camped at the base of the Frostbacks and Skyhold was only another day’s ride away. The elven mage had considered riding through the night to reach the fortress, but it wasn’t worth exhausting their horses or risking the perils of night travel. Skyhold would be there when they arrived, whether it was this night or the next.

“Hm? Oh, yes, thank you, Bull.” She replied absently. Her eyes scarcely strayed from the flickering orange and gold light that danced in front of them.

“And I think our fearless leader might be somewhere else, Tiny.” Varric quipped from over the top of his stein.

Isala blinked her pale eyes to the dwarf. “I’m here. I’m listening.” She huffed indignantly.

“Whatever you say.” Varric chuckled. The Inquisitor made a face but it quickly dissipated into a sigh. The rogue was right. She was somewhere else. She had been almost the entire trip. Only half listening, only half present, trapped somewhere in her own thoughts.

“You’re right. Forgive me.” She sighed, making the effort to look around the circle at her companions. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Something in the Commander’s report?” The Iron Bull asked. He took another gulp from his glass.

Isala opened her mouth and closed it. She shrugged nonchalantly. “No, it was just the usual report.”

“You always blush at the _usual reports_?” Bull was smiling over his stein before taking another deep drink.

The Inquisitor felt heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. There hadn’t been anything indecent in the report. Nothing that was even improper, just like the Commander himself. It was just the way he’d written his closing. The way she could hear his warm voice delivering the words in her head. She hadn’t realized how eager she was to see him until that moment.

Isala swallowed hard. “Am I so obvious?”

“Obvious? No. But we are staying in a fortress overflowing with Orlesians.” Varric shrugged. “People talk.”

“Well I think it’s great!” The Qunari suddenly erupted. “You’re carrying a big weight on your shoulders there Boss, its good you’ve got someone to…relieve some of the tension.” The Iron Bull flashed her a wide, knowing grin and winked his one good eye at her.

“I’m not sure any tensions been relieved as of yet, Bull.” Isala groaned. She puffed out a little breath of air, shooing the wisps of her pale hair from her eyes.

There was a choking sound as The Iron Bull quickly lowered his glass to stare at the Inquisitor. Disbelief twisted his features as he cleared his throat. “Wait. You mean, you two haven’t…”

Isala smiled. “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Bullshit!” The Qunari shot back.

“No, we haven’t.”

Varric was chuckling. “And here the Orlesian’s make it sound like you two are getting married any day now.”

“You need me to talk to him, Boss?” The Iron Bull grunted. “I mean, some people are just—”

“Too proper?” Isala offered.

“Oblivious.” The Iron Bull finished. “Maybe he hasn’t gotten the hint yet?”

The Inquisitor licked her lips. She remembered that moment at the base of her staircase. It had been just a few short weeks prior, but she remembered the feel of Cullen beneath her fingertips in vivid detail. The tautness of the leather. The gruff hissing of his voice as he cursed softly.

“I’m not sure that’s the case either.” She breathed, swallowing the tightness that was drying her throat out.

“You mean to tell me that the sky is pissing demons and you can’t get laid?” Blackwall spoke up suddenly, taking a seat around the fire. He’d brought another flask of wine and The Iron Bull held out his stein for a refill.

“The world really is coming to an end.” Varric quipped. Isala chuckled, passing her own glass toward the newly offered flask.

“Well, my doors always open if you need to relieve some of that tension, Boss.” The Iron Bull winked his good eye again and held up his stein in a toast. Isala took her own glass back and held it up.

“Thank you, Bull. That’s good to know.” She was smiling and it felt good to smile.

“Hey, anyone seen Chuckles?” Varric asked, referring to Solas.

“He said he would meet us back at camp.” Blackwall shrugged. “Should we look for him?”

“Ah, Solas can take care of himself. I’ve seen what that guy can do with a staff. Scary shit.” The Iron Bull took a long draw off his glass. “Glad he’s on our side.”

“You and me both, Tiny.” Varric gestured a toast with his own glass.

“I’ll drink to that.” Isala hoisted her stein up.

“Now there is a guy who needs to get laid.” The Qunari continued.

Blackwall leaned forward. “Hey, what do you guys think he does all day in the Fade? I mean, he makes friends with spirits right? You don’t suppose any of those spirits are…more than friends?”

The Iron Bull made a disgusted sound around his drink and Varric stood suddenly. “And on that note, I’m going to try to get some shut eye. Hopefully I don’t have nightmares about what you just suggested.” He inclined his head toward Blackwall. The Grey Warden began to chuckle and toasted his glass toward the dwarf.

“You’re welcome.”

Isala drained her recently filled stein and settled it on the ground before standing. “I think my tent is calling me as well.” She confessed.

“See you later, Boss.” The Iron Bull said. “Seriously though, next time you’re in the mood, I say you bust into his office and lay it all out for him. You know…naked.”

Isala felt her face flame, but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading. “I’ll bare that in mind, Bull.”

“You do that, Boss. You do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments/kudos are what keeps me going! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala goes for a midnight swim to clear her mind. Apparently, someone else had the same idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day! *checks temperature* I can't believe it either guys! Hope you're all enjoying it thus far :D

There had been a time, not so long ago, when Isala had stared up into the sky and wondered if she would see stars in it ever again. The glow from the breach had drown out nearly all other light, until there was nothing but the sickly green hue bathing the earth below it. Now the sky was scared, forever marred by the faint green ripple of what had once been the breech, but at least she could see the stars.

Out here, at the base of the mighty Frostbacks, the stars seemed just a little brighter and Isala had a clear view from where she was. The water surrounding her was surprisingly warm. She hadn't been able to sleep and had remembered seeing the small lake when they'd made their way to the camp site. It was just far enough away from the Inquisition troops to feel private, but still close enough that Isala knew help wasn't out of reach. Not that she thought she would need it.

The sounds of birds and crickets had all but died away as the warm hum of the water seeped into her ears. Her pale hair spread out around her face like a sea creature and her small clothes clung to her body as she floated along the surface of the water.

She hardly noticed the ripple in the lake as something disturbed it, but she righted herself just in time to catch the last of Solas' bare torso descend into the water. Her breath caught audibly in her throat before she could stop herself. The woods were dark and the water was darker, but the moon shone above them and kissed the elf's skin in pale light. He looked like a predator swimming toward her. He barely disturbed the surface of the water as he glided across it and toward the elven Inquisitor.

"Solas?" She made his name a question and it seemed to get swallowed up in the emptiness of the night surrounding them.

"Inquisitor. Have I disturbed you?" His voice was calm, even, and cultured. As always.

Isala swallowed hard as he drew closer. "N-no." She stammered. She was kicking her feet gently beneath her to stay afloat. The water was deeper here and she had to use her arms to steady herself. "I didn't know you'd made it back to camp." She tried to keep her eyes from wandering. She'd only ever seen the barest hints of flesh from the other elf. The smooth skin of his hands, the peeking of his toes and heels…his bare face. Now she could see snatches of him glinting beneath the water's surface. The hollow of his throat. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The muscles pulling and moving under his skin as he swam.

Isala's mouth went dry.

"Everyone else seems to be asleep." He made it a statement.

"I can't sleep." She didn't tell him the reason. She didn't tell him it was because she was worried she might find him there, waiting for her, tempting her. The Inquisitor wondered if perhaps, she'd have been better off confined to her tent.

"And so you found this place." He was glancing around, watching the water run along his skin, closing his eyes against the breeze on his face. Isala's lips parted in an exhale and she turned her attention skyward.

"The stars are out tonight. I came to clear my head. I always enjoyed swimming before, seemed as good a place as any." She leaned back into the water and began to float. She was staring at the sky again as the water muffled the sound around her. For a moment she almost forgot he was there with her, but then the water shifted and she knew he had mirrored her position and was floating only inches away. She had a sudden urge to look over at him. To see how much of his body was exposed out of the water.

"Does it help?" She heard his voice even with her ears submerged. "Have you managed to clear your head?"

"I don't think so." She admitted softly. It was difficult for her to discern exactly how quiet her voice was. The water distorted it so much.

It was silent for several heartbeats. The lake was still, save for the gentle movements of their hands and feet every now and again. She kept her face skyward against every nerve ending wanting to glance over at him. Why was he here, now, with her?

"Solas, I think we should talk about the dreams." She stated suddenly. "About what they mean."

"What do you believe they mean?" He asked evenly.

If she could have shrugged in water, she would have. "I don't know. I've never shared a dream with someone."

"Nor have I." It sounded like a confession.

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Why?"

"Well, you seem the most comfortable in the Fade. Like you'd much rather spend your time there than here, in the real world."

"And what makes your world any more real than the Fade?" He asked and Isala felt like she'd hit a nerve, though the inflections of his voice never changed.

"I didn't mean to offend you." She did turn her face toward him then. The moonlight was peeking out from behind the clouds. It caused the water to shimmer where it covered his flesh and she could see that his chest was bare, facing the sky. She could make out the long, toned muscles of his abdomen, pulled taught with the subtle effort to remain afloat. His steely eyes opened and he glanced toward her.

"I took no offense. If anything, your observations of my time spent in the Fade are a compliment." There was that ghost of a smile again. The one that made him look young and almost mischievous. "You are the first person I have shared a dream with, Isala." He made a point of saying her name, rather than use her title and the Inquisitor felt her breath catch. She regained control of her floating body and refocused her attention skyward.

"You've kissed me twice in a dream now, Solas. I think that's worth discussing." She tried to keep her voice objective. She was the Inquisitor, after all, not some confused hand-maiden.

"I believe it was _you_ who initiated the first kiss." He commented and she could have sworn she heard a hint of laughter in his voice.

Isala felt herself blushing. "But you kissed me back." She prodded. "And a few weeks ago, I didn't initiate that." Though, she might have verbally instigated it, she had to admit.

"Another ill-advised reaction. I should not have done that, nor should I have encouraged the first kiss."

Isala frowned. He was so confusing. "You said it could never be anything more than a fleeting dream. You meant _us_?"

He was quiet, too quiet, and she lifted her head just enough to expose her ears. "Yes." He confessed softly and there was a distant sadness in his voice. "I am glad you have found someone in Cullen." He added, making a point to say the Commander's name. To remind her of the man she had started something with. Though, she couldn't help but feel like something had started long before Cullen had kissed her. Right next to her. In her dreams.

"Why are you here?" She asked, turning her head out of the water to watch him as he replied. To see the subtle nuances dance across his face.

"To help close the breaches. To stop Corypheus."

"No, not the Inquisition. Why are you _here_? Right now. In _this_ place. With me?" She pressed and watched as his face grew solemn. His lips parted as if he were going to answer, but then he lifted his face and turned to meet her stare. Isala felt movement beneath the water only a moment before his fingertips brushed her own. He took her hand and held it there between them, just beneath the water's surface. The other elf turned his face skyward once again and continued to float there with her hand in his.

Isala licked her lips and swallowed hard. It seemed like such a simple thing and yet, Solas was not a simple man. Things with him were anything but simple. She fought her own instincts and managed to turn her face back toward the stars. Silence blanketed them and for a long while they remained like that. Two souls floating adrift beneath a sea of stars, a lacing of fingers holding them together.

Isala felt her palm begin to itch with the desire to touch more of him. He was so close. It would have been so easy to run her fingers along some bare sliver of skin. To find out how firm his abdomen was. To see how much of him was covered beneath the gentle waves surrounding them. Then Solas began to move her hand beneath the water. He brought it up to rest against his bare chest and Isala held her breath as he left it there, the cool night air brushing against it as the water ran down her fingertips to pool along his skin.

The elven mage's breath eased out in a sigh as she moved her hand ever-so-slightly. She took note of every ripple, every divot, every nuance in his toned flesh. She counted the muscles in his abdomen and traced the outline of his navel. She expected to feel the brush of wet fabric at the curve of his hip, but there was nothing and Isala's pale eyes went wide.

He was naked.

Her heart sped instantly. Her mouth drying out as her breaths became heavier. She could feel the soft dip that made up the V shape of his pelvis and she bit her lip unsure of how far she was meant to travel. Unsure of where she should allow herself to go. Her hand hesitated there against his bare skin as she stared up at the sky. And then, she felt his hand slide over hers and guide her.

She found him there. His skin was smooth and firm and she curled her fingers around him. His breath caught as she gripped him and it only served to urge her onward. She rose from the water, intent to roll over and face him. To watch him as she worked him over. To see the desire in his eyes. Watch the pleasure move over his face. Kiss him as he moaned around her mouth.

She hit the floor hard and groaned in pain as her pillows and coverlet fell down after her. She could hear birds outside her balcony and cursed into the wooden floorboards.

" _Fenedhis_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos are always appreciated :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a particularly confusing dream, Isala wakes with purpose, but things never seem to work out quite the way she plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably going to take a minor break after this chapter to focus on my Modern AU fic a bit. I've neglected it a weensy bit since getting into a SBD groove. Plus, I there is going to be a lull in the sexiness in this fic for a couple chapters so, not as exciting to write, but have no fear, good things are coming, hehe.

She wasn’t sure how long she had laid in a heap on her floor. She knew that first light had yet to break out over the horizon. That torches were still lit to chase back the waning darkness. The last small hours were still upon them, but the Inquisitor knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. She wasn’t certain she wanted to. It seemed she was finding it increasingly difficult to discern when she was dreaming or in the waking world, and that was a frightening thought.

Isala cloaked her slender body in a robe made of samite. Vivienne had given her a thirty minute dissertation about how dales loden wool would be a much warmer fabric and more beautifully embroidered. She had no doubts that Madame de Fer would bring back a new wardrobe with her on her next visit to Val Royeaux. She seemed to think that the Inquisitor should dress the part and was determined to clothe the Dalish elf in the sophistication of the Imperial Court, if it was the last thing she did.

Isala liked the samite robe just the same. The dusty blue complemented the fairness of her hair and brought out the color in her eyes. The speckling of dots embroidered faintly into the fabric was just enough to break up the monotony of a solid hue. It was elegant but simple. Just the way she liked it.

The white of her sleeping gown peeked out from beneath the robe as she walked briskly through the Great Hall. The long, wide sleeves swished against the skirts as she crossed the vast room and toward the rotunda. She stilled as she approached a sleeping Varric, curled onto the couch just before the door. The fire was still faintly alive in front of him and she could see that he’d been up late writing letters. The ink was still evident on the dwarf’s fingertips.

Isala crept quietly to the wooden door that led into the rotunda. She closed her eyes as she opened the entry, praying silently that it didn’t squeak. She felt almost silly, sneaking about, but she didn’t particularly want to wake anyone.

When she was certain the door had closed completely behind her she took another step, only to pause inside the threshold. The rotunda was where Solas spent most of his time. She was actually relatively certain it was where he slept as well and she had reason to believe he was most likely still asleep. Then again, considering she was wide awake now, there was a good chance the elven sage might be as well.

Isala sighed. She had started walking this direction with a singular purpose. Cullen. She needed to shake the dream from her mind. Needed to look into the Commander’s eyes and feel the earth move a little beneath her. She needed the reminder that she was awake and alive.

She’d decided to follow The Iron Bull’s suggestion. To storm the castle, as it were. To simply barge into his office and see if he wanted the same things she did. It was the reason she’d barely dressed. The reason her hair still fell around her shoulders in pale waves, like seafoam. The reason she’d hardly thought it all through. The reason she was standing, panic stricken, in the entry to what might as well have been Solas’ room.

Isala leaned her head back against the wall closest to her. The stones were cool against her skin and gave her pause to think. What if Solas was in there? What if he was awake? What would she say to him? Would he say anything to her? He rarely did when she passed though the rotunda. Often times, she felt as if she were the only one initiating conversation. Otherwise, they were little more than two ships passing in the night.

“Coward.” She breathed, hissing to herself. She clutched her fists at her side and stood straight, marching forward suddenly with renewed intent. If Solas wanted to speak to her about the dream, then all the better.

She passed out of the short hallway and into the rotunda. The scaffolding Solas had been using to paint was still there. The desk at its center was littered with papers and one of the strange shards they had found while in the Hinterlands. The sconces on the walls flickered with warm candlelight and cast long shadows across the room. A room that was otherwise empty. Solas wasn’t there.

Isala let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto and quickly crossed the room. She opened the door that led outside and was instantly hit with the crisp mountain air. It whipped into the room, lifting the edges of some of the pages scattered across the desk, before the Inquisitor managed to close it.

Outside, the air seemed restless. It tugged at the folds of her dress and whipped the loose strands of her hair as she made her way across the stone pathway and toward her Commander’s office. Isala could see the candlelight flickering from his open window and she gripped hold of her skirts to make it easier to walk at a brisker pace. With each step, her resolve grew more solid. She could already imagine him, sitting at his desk, his armor discarded, finally. He’d be wearing only his undershirt and trousers. His feet would be bare, his hair mussed from sleeping, the stubble just starting to color his jawline.

Isala’s footsteps sped as she reached his door. She had to stop herself from kicking it down. She didn’t knock, however. Didn’t announce herself. Simply threw the door open wide and thrust herself inside.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him she’d missed him, to rush to his desk and crawl into his lap, to—

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s warm voice cut off her air supply as she barged into the office. He was indeed seated at his desk, but as was his usual manner, he was fully clothed. It wasn’t the sight of him that killed the words in her throat, however.

“Ah, so this is the infamous Harold of Andraste?” A voice almost purring with an Orlesian lilt, said. A man, flamboyantly dressed and yet, still holding on to a military air, stood just in front, and to the side of, Cullen’s desk. He wore a half mask, as most all Orlesian nobility did. Only his bottom lip and chin peeked out from beneath the intricate accessory.

Cullen stood and cleared his throat suddenly. “Y-yes, Inquisitor, this is…”

The Orlesian moved toward her, his hand extended as he gave a low, graceful bow. “Your humblest of servants.” Isala stared at the human’s outstretched hand and tried not to cringe. Josephine would have been beside herself and undoubtedly, the Inquisitor would never hear the end of it from her Antivan Ambassador.

The Dalish took his outstretched hand and did her best curtsy.

“I must say, I almost didn’t recognize you outside of your armor. You simply must wear skirts more often. It becomes you.” The Orlesian sneered behind his mask. Isala pulled her hand back and straightened. “We have only just arrived for the festivities. I understand a very enthusiastic _Happy Birthday_ is in order?”

Her birthday? Creators, she’d almost forgotten. The ball. The guests. Isala inwardly cringed. “Thank you.” She glanced to Cullen, who seemed as stunned as she was, and cleared her throat. “Well, I was just out for an early morning stroll.” She lied. “I saw the light on in the window. I am sorry to have disturbed you.” She gathered her skirts and moved past the visiting noble and toward the door to the right.

“Inquisitor.” She heard Cullen call after her, but she didn’t stop. The door slammed behind her, she hadn’t meant for it to, but she kept walking even after the sound rang out. The air was like a slap to her skin as she crossed the battlements and away from Cullen’s office.

What had she been thinking? She was just going to barge into Cullen’s office and what? Ravage him? In what universe was he not busy? In what universe was she? When was there ever going to be a time when he was not her commander and she not the Inquisitor?

Isala tilted her head back to the sky and closed her eyes as she stood in the middle of the stone rampart. The wind whipped her hair around her long ears and slender face. Her robe and nightgown rippled and waved in its wake. She breathed deeply of the cold, mountain air and tried to clear her thoughts. She needed to get a grip on herself. To ground herself from her dreams and desires both.

She heard a door close nearby and the swift breeze almost swallowed up the voice that followed after. She thought she heard someone calling for the Inquisitor, but she didn’t move or open her eyes just yet. She just needed a few more moments to calm herself. She just needed another second to be alone. To be Isala, instead of the strong, smiling face of the Inquisition.

“Isala?”

She turned to face him. He was already almost within reach.

“Cullen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just barged in like that. Certainly not at such an early hour and you had company and I’m—”

His arms were around her and he’d pulled her body against his so suddenly that the words rushed out of her mouth in a gasp.

“You’re back.” He murmured into her hair. She felt herself relaxing. Felt her body melting into that warm, familiar embrace. There was such relief in his voice.

“Yes, we rode well after sundown. Everyone was already asleep so,” She was speaking into his shoulder. Into the spicy scent of his clothes.

“Your last report said you we to arrive days ago. When you didn’t show…” His arms tightened ever-so-slightly and Isala let her own slide around the human holding her close.

“We ran into a few skirmishes along the road. It delayed us. I should have sent word, but we were already so close, I didn’t think it that serious.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke against his body. She felt the wind pick up around them, but it was as if its chill could no longer touch her so long as Cullen held her.

They stood there in the quiet of the early morning air. Neither spoke for several heartbeats. Neither moved, but the Inquisitor didn’t mind. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to feel the touch of another being. The real, solid connection of another body, reminding her that she was still a part of _this_ place. Still tethered to the earth. To reality.

“I should let you get back to your guest.” She said at last. Though, she didn’t want to let him go.

“Guest? Oh, you mean the Chevalier?” Cullen chuckled. “I told him we would talk another time. I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded by Josephine in due course.”

Isala drew back enough to stare up into the Commander’s face. The first beams of sunlight were breaking over the horizon and they cast warm, golden light across the human’s face. It turned his eyes molten brown and set his hair aflame. The elf smiled wide as she stared up at him.

“What?” He asked softly as she studied him. Isala shook her head, letting the smile be answer enough. He really was quite handsome, for a human.

He kissed her then, and she hadn’t expected it. It was like all the other kisses before. Crushing and passionate. Like it was the first time and the last time. Like he was trying to tell her everything he couldn’t seem to form the words to. That kiss went straight to her center and clenched every buried muscle in her body. The little hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and her toes curled a little against the cold stone floor.

When he began to pull away Isala leaned into him to steal another kiss. It was softer, gentler, and accompanied by a hushed whisper on her lips.

“I missed you too.” She cooed, wanting nothing more in that moment than to rush him back to his room and find out exactly what was waiting beneath all that armor. He smiled against her lips and gazed down at her through hooded lids. The Inquisitor looked back at him and for the first time noticed just how tired he looked. The dark circles beginning to beneath his eyes. The hollowness of his cheeks. The paleness of his complexion. Had he slept at all? Was he ill? Had something happened while she was away?

“Are you well?” She prompted gingerly. “You look tired.”

She watched as the ex-templar’s face fell a moment before he covered it with another soft smile. “Better now.” His hand rose to trace the edge of her cheek. She realized that his hands were bare, for once, and she relished in the feel of that little bit of bare skin. He curled his fingers into her hair as if letting water pass through them. “I like you hair this way.” He said it almost absently.

“Then I shall have to wear it like this more often.” Isala offered playfully.

“Perhaps at the ball tonight?”

The Inquisitor stiffened. The ball! That was right. It was going to be tonight. She’d almost forgotten again. She’d wanted to forget, but it didn’t seem like it was going to go away. Even if she wanted it to.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday.” Cullen teased, but then his face sobered as he took note of the expression the elven Inquisitor wore.

“Is it terrible of me to have hoped I’d missed it?” She asked. Isala leaned her forehead against the human holding her and Cullen rested his chin atop her pale hair.

“Not at all.” She could feel his hands beginning to trace small circles along her back. “I’ll go if you will.” He offered and she smiled, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I’m not sure that I have a choice.” She groaned, but then added. “I’m glad that you’ll be there.” She felt Cullen’s hand slip beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back to him. His eyes were sharp and held such intent when he looked at her then. She couldn’t look away, and didn’t want to, but almost felt the need to squirm beneath the weight of them.

“For you… _always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are what makes the writing world go round!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala is ready for her morning meetings, but something completely different awaits her at the war table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, I know its short, and not all that exciting, but I felt like I needed to show a little bit of interaction with the girls and the lead in to this dress. In any case, I plan to go into more details in the following chapter, but I felt like if I didn't post this silly thing than it was never going to get finished and I'd never move on.
> 
> Also, randomly, I'm completely shameless and welcome artistic input. If anyone feels so inclined, I love dragon age fanart and would love some of my own. Say, of Isala or her dress or both or her and Cullen...*swoon* Not begging. Just...suggestions, lol.

"Happy birthday, Your Worship!”

“Inquisitor, happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday, my Lady Inquisitor!”

“Your Worship, it’s your birthday? Happy birthday!”

Skyhold was full. Perhaps as much as she’d ever seen it. There was a hum of conversation that buzzed throughout the stone halls and clattered up into the battlements. Unfortunately, most of that conversation was about her.

Isala didn’t like servants tending to her every whim. Inquisitor or not. She especially didn’t like having elven servants and did her best to ensure that she didn’t require anyone to do anything for her. She was completely capable of dressing herself and fetching her own breakfast. It didn’t stop them from trying, but Isala did what she could to make their jobs easier.

She was carrying a pastry and hot coffee with her toward the war room. It was usual for her to pop into the inn for a bite just before the first meeting of the day. She’d hoped to sneak in and out without much notice, but it was as if she had a giant sign floating over her head today. One that said, “Hey, I’m the Inquisitor and it’s my birthday!”

The elven mage tried to smile and nod to each stranger who wished her well as she worked her way through the great hall and toward Josephine’s office. Once inside she leaned her head against the large wooden door for a few heartbeats to catch her breath and let some of the tension ease out of her shoulders.

“Inquisitor!” A distinctly Orlesian woman cooed from across the room. She was dressed as ornately as her accent and was surrounded by two other women of a similar fashion sense. 

Isala’s pale eyes opened wide as she straightened against the door.

“Allow me to wish you the happiest of birthdays, your worship.” She purred and curtsied. Isala smiled weakly and did her own attempt to curtsy but it just ended up looking awkward.

"Thank you.”

“I had hoped to speak with Ambassador Montilyet this morning.” The Orlesian noble went on.

Isala began moving across the room. She’d have to cross to get to the war room anyway. “Oh well, I won’t keep her long then.” The Inquisitor nodded once before slipping into the hall that would lead her to her advisors.

The Inquisitor huffed a sigh and stole a bite of her pastry as she made her way down the long hallway and toward the war room. Cool morning air wafted in from the still ruined, right wall, but Isala welcomed the fresh breeze.

She bit her pastry gingerly between her lips to hold it while she pulled one of the massive doors open. Leliana and Josephine sounded to be in mid-conversation as she entered and their chatter turned to whispered giggles as the elf slipped inside. Isala removed the confection from her lips and looked at her council.

"Did I miss something?” She eyed them both suspiciously. If either of them wished her a happy birthday now, she was going to scream. Leliana shook her head nonchalantly and Josephine smiled wide. It was incredibly suspicious and Isala didn’t like it one bit.

“Did you sleep well? We heard you only just arrived in the night?” Josephine said.

Isala nodded and sipped her coffee, hoping the heat didn’t creep into her cheeks. “Yes, thank you.” She lied. She glanced from the Ambassador to the Spymaster and realized something was missing. “Where is Cullen?” She asked, realizing only after the words were out of her mouth that she’d forgotten his title.

“Oh, the Commander won’t be joining us this morning.” Josephine answered.

Isala lowered her cup. She didn’t try to contain the concern that colored her face suddenly. “Is he well?” He did seem a little tired earlier in the morning when she’d seen him last, but he’d assured her he was fine.

Leliana giggled softly. “We do not require Cullen’s council for this meeting.”

The elf’s slender brows knitted together. “What are you two up to?” She asked suspiciously.

“Whatever do you mean?” Josephine was stifling laughter and poorly. The Dalish elf set what was left of her breakfast down next to her coffee and dusted her hands off. She hated surprises and her advisors were doing a piss-poor job of concealing this one. If there was some secret to be shared, she wanted it done and over with already.

Isala crossed her arms and opened her mouth to demand that they give up the rouse when another voice filled the room.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, show her already.”

Isala spun. “Lady Vivienne?” The Imperial Enchanter strode into the war room as if she owned the place, though she rarely entered a room any other way. Two elven servants followed on her heels carrying a garment between the two of them. The folds of blue, silver and white spilled out of the elves arms like water, but neither let it touch the ground.

“Yes Darling. At the rate these two are taking things, your ball will have come and gone before we’ve even managed to show you your dress.” Vivienne quipped as she waved little more than her wrist at the servants. They began adjusting how they held the fabric in their hands so that it could be displayed upright. Isala could scarcely make out what she was looking at, save for the fact that it was possibly one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

“M-my dress?” The Inquisitor asked and the confusion was plain.

“We asked Madame de Fer for her expertise on the matter.” Josephine began. “She is well renowned for her sense of fashion and has some of the best connections in all of Orlais.”

“I feared they wouldn’t have the garment in time, to be perfectly honest, but I believe a small miracle may have occurred when they made this gown.” Vivienne purred with her wide, regal smile. “I’m still not certain of the fit, mind you. You are a bit more…athletic, than the elven assistant at the boutique, but I believe the proportions are within range.”

Isala moved to where the dress was being held aloft for her inspection. She could see familiar fabrics shimmering in the warm, morning light. Dales loden wool, royal sea silk and others she’d never even beheld. They all glinted in the sunlight, sparkling like the surface of the ocean at sunrise. The Dalish elf reached out with her fingertips and caressed the delicate fabric of the bustle. It seemed almost too rich for her fingers and she worried that if she wore the dress, she might spend the entire evening caressing the supple materials that wove it together.

“This is for me?” She asked softly.

“Why of course it is, Darling. Now, come on, we haven’t got all day. Try it on.” Vivienne declared.

Isala’s gaze darted back to the enchanter. “What, now? Here?” She hated having people help her dress, but this looked like something she was going to need assistance in and out of.

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Well, we could have it taken to your room if you absolutely insist, but really, it’s just us girls here, and the lighting is wonderful right now.” Vivienne made her way to the massive war table and leaned her bottom against it, bracing either side of her curvaceous form on the edge of the large wooden slab. She was looking at the Inquisitor expectantly and Isala’s gaze wavered between that of her advisors and the enchanter.

The Dalish elf licked her lips and looked back at the elegant garment being displayed for her. She took a deep breath and shrugged, her fingertips already going to the little buttons on her tunic. “Alright then, let’s get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You love...I mean comments and kudos, are what keeps this going! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a ball you know. You can't very well go to a ball without the proper attire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball will be next, promise. I've been dreaming of this dress so, I really wanted to get it down on paper in one go so that I didn't miss the opportunity to describe it later. Its really a mash up of a couple dresses I've seen. There are a couple links of things I took inspiration from, though the colors aren't represented. In any case, hope you're still enjoying it, even as all this silly girlishness happens. Lol.
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cd/29/01/cd2901854b5adaaad420daf22952af03.jpg  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f2/e9/81/f2e981760316fd5b90c3893b0147d01f.jpg

“Oh Inquisitor, it’s simply stunning.” Josephine was smiling wistfully. Like she was watching some epic romance play out in front of her eyes.

" _Isala_. Josephine, please, at least for tonight, can we have names and not titles between us?” The Dalish elf corrected for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Ah, very well. As you wish, Isala.” The Antivan enunciated her name with perfect clarity. She was sitting at the foot of her bed along with Leliana while Vivienne fretted at the bustle of the gown. The dress had needed only minor adjustments and the seamstress had made quick work of the changes during the day. Isala was almost glad Vivienne had insisted she try the garment on that morning. It fit like a glove now.

"I still believe we could take it in a bit more at the hip.” Vivienne critiqued as she smoothed out the folds of rich fabric.

Isala glanced down at the garment and smiled. “I believe if it were taken in any further, it would be stitched _to_ my body.” As it was, the gown looked to be a marvel of both Orlesian and elven ingenuity. The main body of the dress was white, but there was so little of the pale fabric exposed to plain view it was difficult to tell. The skirts were cut in a handkerchief style with a shorter portion ending at the middle of the Inquisitor’s thigh, while the longest hem came to a point between the slopes of her calves. The bodice scalloped up and around her neck in a mock collar that framed the slender column of her throat. There was a bustle made of two layers. Crafted in dales loden wool, the first ended just above her knees and the second trailed behind her like a whimsical train. Embroidery in rich blue had been stitched by hand into the body of the gown in a pattern that was decidedly Dalish. Gems of opal and mother of pearl and the occasional sapphire sparkled and glinted in almost any light the dress encountered. They had been woven directly into the intricate embroidery and made the gown a work of pure art.     

“Are you pleased with the shoes?” Leliana asked of the elven design. Isala glanced down and wiggled her exposed toes. Apparently, her Spymaster was rather fond of shoes herself and had been in charge of acquiring the lavish footwear. The pale, almost white leather was buttery soft and wrapped smoothly around the whole of her calves. It was simple and modeled after some of the elven armor her hunters wore. There was a very small sole at the arch of the foot that collected the shoe, but otherwise left the ball of the foot and heel exposed.

“Oh, very much, thank you Leliana.” The Inquisitor glanced around the room at all the ladies that had been so instrumental in getting her ready for the ball. “Thank _all_ of you. If it had been up to me I might have shown up in pajamas.”

“We know dear. Why do you think we went to so much trouble to ensure you didn’t dress yourself?” Vivienne teased.

Josephine stood. “And now for the final touch.” She said, picking up a colorfully wrapped box that had been sitting next to her. The Ambassador brought the gift to the elven mage and placed it in her gloved hands. Isala stared down at the box she held. It felt strange with the gloves on. Normally, she wouldn’t have been comfortable covering her fingers. It was as foreign to her as covering her toes, but the gloves were full and made of the softest material she’d ever felt. They were light and delicately embroidered to match, covering the length of her arm up past her elbows.

“What’s this? Another gift? Really, the gown and shoes and the ball, it’s really _more_ than enough.” The Inquisitor hadn’t even wanted to celebrate, let alone do something so lavish, but it seemed to make so many happy and Josephine had seen it as a chance to make more allies among the nobility. Isala couldn’t argue with the Antivan’s logic. Still, she wasn’t used to getting gifts and they had already done too much.

Josephine smiled. “Consider it an extension of your gown then. It would be incomplete without this.”

The Dalish elf looked down at the box once more and made a face. This was not an argument she was likely to win and she knew it. Isala pulled at one of the silken ribbons and slid the cover free from the gift. She gasped as the contents came fully into view.

A mask lay nestled in a fold of velvet within the box. It stared back up at the Inquisitor and Isala found herself nervous to touch the delicate accessory. It looked to only be a half mask. Meant to mostly cover the eyes and a hint of the nose. The mask seemed cut from metal yet was as pale and luminous as a pearl. The swirls and etching matched that of the embroidery on her dress and she could make out the shimmer of similar jewels around the eyes and curling into what appeared to be twisting horns winding back into the head of the mask.

She reached in and removed the mask, finding it was light yet sturdy, even if it had the appearance of supple lace. She stared at it for several heartbeats, marveling at its intricate design when Leliana spoke up.

“A halla.” She had moved from her position at the foot of the bed. “We thought it an appropriate match for your vallaslin.”

“Yes, thank you. It’s beautiful.” Isala murmured. It was true, her vallaslin, though a ghost of a thing across her chin and forehead, marked the mother of the halla, Ghilan’nain as her patron.

“Well let’s put it on.” Vivienne suggested, gently taking the mask from the elf’s hand. Isala felt the cool, smooth material caress her skin as the accessory was tied into place around her face. She blinked a few times, checking her peripheral vision through the large eye holes. Josephine and Leliana were grinning like a couple of little girls as they stood in front of her. She felt Vivienne moving back in front of her and even she was smiling. Even the two elven servants near the door were positively beaming.

“Perfection.” Vivienne approved and Isala couldn’t wait anymore. She spun to look at her silhouette in the free standing mirror that had been brought in. For a moment she simple stood there with her lips parted in disbelief. She almost didn’t recognize herself staring back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done something so intricate with her hair. The little pins and gems woven into the braids at her temples sparkling like a circlet, revealing her pointed ears in all their glory. She certainly had never worn a gown so lovely or possibly at all. She couldn’t even remember if there had ever been an opportunity for such finery among her people. Now she looked like some sort of elven royalty come to life. Like something out of a dream.

“Now then, the guests will all be wearing masks as well. Of course, it _is_ a masquerade. However, we have made sure to remind them that this is something of a celebration and not grounds for political boasting.” Josephine instructed. Isala was still staring into the mirror. “We will of course, do everything in our power to field those conversations, Inquisitor.”

“Yes, our goal is for you to enjoy your evening above all else.” Leliana chimed in. “We do not want you to get stuck talking to some overzealous Bann or Chevalier all night.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be too hard. I shall help to diffuse any distracting socialites myself.” Vivienne offered and both the Spymaster and the Ambassador turned to the enchanter in surprise, though it was Josephine who spoke up.

“Madame de Fer, you are too kind.” Vivienne smiled smugly and gave the Antivan a gentle nod of consideration.

"Are you ready, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked.

The Dalish mage was staring into the mirror. Trying to decide _who_ it was staring back at her. She’d spent so much time fighting, surviving and trying to save the world, she wasn’t sure she could just be a lady for one evening. Creators watch over her. She’d been asking them to call her by her name and not her title but she wasn’t altogether certain she could just be Isala.

She was staring at her gloved hand. The faint green light of the anchor the only indication that could give her away as the Inquisitor. Tonight was for her. Tonight was for Isala. She could just be a woman tonight. She didn’t have to save the world tonight. She felt a kind of giddy delight in that idea. Even as it scared her to death.

“Ready.” She breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos are always welcome and appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala makes her grand entrance and even shares a dance...or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball is just beginning. I have plans for another chapter or two before moving on. After all, we have to see what our fearless Commander is up to as well.

She was alone now.

The servants, her advisors, Vivienne, all had gone ahead. They’d claimed they would fend off the ravenous nobility from accosting her at her door as she made her grand entrance, but Isala wasn’t so sure they could pull it off. After all, there were three of them and…how many had Josephine invited?

Isala took a deep breath and held it. Her gloved fingers were against the door that would lead her out into the Great Hall. She wished her quarters had more than a single entry point and that she could have slipped into the Great Hall some other way. As it stood, everyone would see her entrance. Everyone would have to behold her as she made her way off the dais and down the short steps. She would be on full display like some rare bird in a gilded cage. She thought to pray to Sylaise and even the all-mother Mythal for protection and guidance, but in this very shemlen driven affair, she doubted either would hear her.

Her fingers lifted the latch and she slowly let the door swing open. It was as if she’d opened some great seal. Like she’d been trapped inside a jar made of glass and had managed to wretch the lid free. Sound wafted into the inner room to her quarters like a swarm of insects flying inside. The chatter of countless voices, laughter, music, drinks being slurped and food being chewed. It all came flooding toward the Inquisitor before she’d ever even managed a step into it.

She exhaled that held breath in a stutter and fought to steel her nerves. She couldn’t back out now. It would be seen as some grave offence to everyone Josephine had invited and more so to the Ambassador herself. Isala didn’t know why it mattered so much to her to garner the approval of her companions. She’d known them not yet half a year. None shared her customs. None were true kinsmen and yet, every one of them looked to her as if everything they held dear rested on her narrow shoulders.

Isala clenched her hands into fists at her side. Her toes bit into the ancient stone floor beneath her as she prepared to take a step forward. Then a hand, fingers tanned and impeccably manicured, extended toward her in offered escort.

Dorian.

Even with the colorful mask covering half his face, she would have known him anywhere.

“ _Your Worship_.” He winked down the length of his arm as he bowed in mock reverence. The way he’d said her sometimes-title eased some of the tension in her shoulders and she felt herself begin to breathe again. There was just something about the Tevinter that put her at ease. She couldn’t explain it really, but from their very first moments together, Dorian had always made her feel like a friend. He always knew precisely what to say. How to say it in a way that would make her smile. There were no illusions between them. No pretenses. No titles even. So, his current choice of words wasn’t lost on the Dalish elf. It was all a big show and Dorian was the cleverest thespian.

Her silken fingers slid into his waiting palm and he gently took hold of her hand and led her out onto the dais. He was dressed in the rich jewel tones of ring velvet and silk brocade. The attire was undeniably his own doing and yet, he somehow pulled it all together to appear before her like some exotic prince of a far off land. Which she supposed wasn’t too far from the truth. Even his mask seemed to project his ostentatious personality. A peacock, was it?

All that chatter. The swarming insects. It all seemed to die down to nothing as she stepped out into the blazing torchlight spilling down overhead. She heard some gasp softly. Others whispered to their neighbors behind their veiled masks. There was a hush over the conjugation and it made every hair on the Inquisitor’s body stand on end.

She searched the crowd for familiar faces, but it was hard to discern one from another with everyone wearing some version of a mask. Except for The Iron Bull. The big guy couldn’t help but stand out in a sea of silken frocks and frilly lace.

“Look at them all gawking.” Dorian whispered into her ear. “You’d think they just laid eyes on some magical creature or something.” His mustache tickled her ear as he smiled. Heat crept up her neck and a thousand butterflies beat their tiny wings inside her stomach.

They took to the steps, the train of her gown trailing with the soft hiss of sliding fabric against stone behind them. As they waded into the sea of guests, Isala took note of the distinct masks of her allies. She wanted to know she was still among friends. _Needed_ to know that they were all here with her.

When they’d reached the center of the room Dorian turned to face her, still holding her hand. “You know, I find that the trick to these sorts of things, is to never allow yourself to be seen alone. Les the vultures begin swooping in.” He gave her a short bow that she managed to echo with a soft curtsy Josephine had taught her. The crowd had seemingly taken to either side of the hall to give them room and the musicians took up their instruments for a new tune.

“You are entirely too pretty to be eaten by vultures.” The Tevinter beamed and took the Inquisitor with his free hand at the small of her back. There was a moment where she was able to take a breath and then, they were dancing.

"Thank you, Dorian.” She said once she’d gotten the rhythm of the steps. Ballroom dancing was just one of the many things Josephine had insisted she begin learning. The Ambassador seemed to think that the Inquisitor would inevitably have to attend some social gathering that would require the skill and as a Dalish elf, Isala had no penchant for dancing. Though Dorian, seemed a natural. He was all strong shoulders and liquid grace.

“Don’t give it another thought. After all, you are the second most beautiful thing in the room. It would be a crime against Thedas for us not to dance.” He mused, twirling her around the room like a little doll. “Happy Birthday, Isala.” He smiled lavishly as the song began winding down. “Shall I fetch us a drink?”

“But I thought you said I shouldn’t be seen alone.” The Dalish elf asked, suddenly concerned that the other mage would leave her side.

Dorian bowed as they parted from the dance and winked at her. “I did, and so you shan’t.” He was looking at something behind her and Isala couldn’t keep herself from spinning around to see what it was.

He was wearing a mask like everyone else, but there was no mistaking the slope of his long ears and the smooth contour of his head. Even behind the guise of a wolf, Solas stood out in a way that no other elf in the room could.

Isala felt her breath hitch as he stalked toward her. She’d never seen him dress in anything but his simple tunic and leggings while in Skyhold. As if they were the only clothes he cared to own or perhaps it was so there was never anything to leave behind. Solas didn’t seem the sort to linger longer than was necessary.

In many ways, his attire hadn’t changed. The wraps that wound their way around his feet and up his calves were murky strips of what might have been leather from a great bear, brushed smooth and thin and lined in dark samite. That same dark samite covered the swell of his thighs before it disappeared beneath a tunic of dusty silk. At his throat was the edge of that same dark samite peeking through. The various degrees of grey he wore complimented the mask and made his steely eyes stand out behind the delicately shaped metal.

“Dance with me.” He barely breathed the words. They’re was the slightest edge to his voice that made her feel as if he wasn’t making a request. His arm swept out as he bent at the waist in an elegant bow. He offered her his hand, gazing up at her from beneath the predatory mask.

Isala heard music beginning softly as her fingertips slid against his and he caught the digits in his grasp. The music seemed different than it had with Dorian. There was an eeriness to it. A painful longing that stretched the notes into the high ceilings and urged a hush to pass over the onlookers. At least, that’s how the Inquisitor heard it.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” She whispered, as if she could keep their conversation between their fluid movements.

“And yet, here I am.” He murmured. His free hand slid over her hip and to the small of her back. She could feel the warmth of his skin just beyond the layers of delicate fabric that clung against her body. He gave the slightest push with his palm and they were off. The steps were simple at first and they danced in a small box of their own making. The music seemed to follow them, soft, slow and filled with unspoken things. Then she felt his steps widen, drawing her farther across the floor, deeper into the Great Hall, until they were turning up the short stairs to the dais.

“You dance quiet well.” He complimented and twirled her around.

Isala smirked. “I’m as surprised as you.”

He drew her back into the circle of his arms and she followed his footsteps once more. “I did not think the Dalish celebrated birthdays?” It was a question, nothing more. Solas always managed to ask questions that sounded condescending without ever allowing the tone of his voice to betray him.

The elven woman felt the mask tickle her nose as she scrunched it up. “We don’t, but Leliana and Josephine conspired against me.” She tried to keep her voice light. “It seemed to make them happy.”

“And their happiness concerns you?” He asked evenly.

Isala blinked. She opened and closed her mouth twice, unable to answer for a moment. She hadn’t thought about it and yet, the answer seemed quite simple.

“This Inquisition is possibly the closest thing to a clan that I have right now. I care about it,” her large, aquamarine eyes focused intensely on his sharper ones. “About the _people_ who are a part of it.”

The masks hid so much of them away, but she swore she saw a little tightening around his eyes. “You chose a halla?” He asked, changing the subject so quickly that she stumbled. His grip tightened and his arm braced the small of her back before she could trip, making the misstep seem intentional. A way to suddenly bring them closer.

Isala could feel the ridged press of his chest against the intricate embroidery in the front of her gown. Her eyes rolled up to meet his gaze behind the mask of an animal that was superstition personified to the Dalish. “I chose nothing.” She breathed. He was so close. Isala licked her lips. “And you chose a _wolf_?” She chided. Though he wasn’t Dalish, Solas knew a great deal about the Creators, more, Isala believed, than even her Keeper. Even he should have been wary of the Lord of Tricksters, _Fen’Harel._

The music was waning and Solas had all but guided them to a stop. His expression was unreadable, but his movements had stiffened. He leaned down ever-so-slightly and Isala felt her heart suddenly stutter.

“A choice that was also, not mine.” His jaw was tight as he said it and the hedge mage drifted slowly back, releasing her hand and his grip. Isala watched him retreat slowly backwards as the crowd swarmed in around them. She watched as he faded into the glittering masks and folds of satin and lace. She watched him slink away, until she couldn’t see him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: On my first play through of the game, which is where Isala comes from, I totally failed the Clan Lavellan war table mission and got them all slaughtered. So, this particular Lavellan is pretty much alone, save for the Inquisition :/
> 
> Comments/kudos keep me going!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the party trudges on, the Inquisitor is reminded that something is missing from the celebration...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. I have the next 2 or so chapters pretty planned out so hopefully I can get those up sooner than later for you. I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. Let me know in the comments if you're digging it and if there's anything you're hoping to see...ya never know what I might include...I'm very persuadable...  
> Also! Lovely original artwork of Isala in her gown by FaerynB to come as soon as I figure out how to attach it!

"Oh, you simply must introduce me to your seamstress!”

“Yes, please tell us, where did you get this dress made?”

“I had an elven seamstress once, dreadful business.”

Isala had made the mistake Dorian had warned her about. In her daze she’d let the swarm of posh nobility surround her until she had no way out. The party was in full swing. The candles had barely begun to burn down and yet it felt like an eternity had already passed.

The Inquisitor smiled politely, but it was forced. She smoothed her gloved hands down the front of her gown and glanced around, hoping someone would step out of the Fade and help her escape.

“Um, yes, well, you’ll have to ask Madame De Fer, she’s the mastermind behind the gown I’m afraid.” Isala smiled weakly and tilted her head toward the Court Enchantress. Vivienne caught the nod easily and smiled at the throng of chattering nobility surrounding the Inquisitor. Isala prayed to her Creators that the Knight-Enchanter would make her way over and wrangle in the conversation.

“Your Worship.” Krem’s voice was a welcomed balm to the trite aristocracy that was slowly smothering her. The Inquisitor whirled around in a swish of fabric and jewels, greeting her favorite member of the Chargers with a broad, if not relieved, smile.

He looked especially handsome in the new finery and the sharp angles of the dragon mask complimented his jawline perfectly.

“I noticed your glass was empty, Your Worship.” He stated matter-of-factly. He wasn’t wrong. The crystal glass nestled in her gloved palms had long since been drained. “Could I fetch you another?” He offered, and Isala wasted no time in leaping toward the out.

“Oh thank you, Krem! I’ll come with you.” She turned and smiled at the masked nobility. “Please excuse us.” She said, sliding her hand through Krem’s offered arm.

The elven mage breathed a sigh of immense relief as she let the Tevinter lead her away. She gave his arm a little squeeze and tilted her eyes toward him as they maneuvered through the crowd.

“You’re a lifesaver, Krem.”

“Don’t mention it. It is _your_ birthday after all. You shouldn’t have to entertain anyone if you don’t want to.” He was leading her out toward the main doors and she breathed deeply of the fresh, night air wafting in from the large opening.

“Good luck convincing Vivienne or Josephine of that.” She murmured as they passed through the massive archway. “Are we going somewhere?” She realized they’d stepped out of the Great Hall and the Inquisitor paused. Krem’s arm relaxed a little as he inclined his head in the direction of the tavern down in the courtyard. Isala blinked a few times and a sly smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Last time I checked, the _party_ was back there.” She glanced back at the busy ballroom.

Krem had the grace to almost blush. _Almost_. “Afraid you’ve been misinformed, Your Worship.”

The elven mage allowed the mock surprise to raise her delicate brows, shifting the mask ever-so-slightly. “Have I?”

Krem nodded and smiled. “Chief had the Chargers set something up for you over at the Herald’s Rest. Master Tethras and Warden Blackwall are supposed to be heading over as well.”

She couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Krem echoed her widening smile and leaned in to whisper in her elongated ear. “There _may_ be cake involved.”

The Inquisitor allowed herself to actually chuckle. The idea that her companions had orchestrated both events for her was heartwarming. Even if a grand gala wasn’t what she wanted, she knew that Josephine and the others meant well by it. That Bull and some of the others would sneak her out of the fancy ball to have a rousting evening of drinks, cake and merriment down at the tavern warmed her heart even more.

There was just one thing missing…

Isala sighed. She’d been peeking over the heads of snobs and fair-weather allies all evening, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone she was certain would stand out against the rest. She hadn’t expected to see Solas and the solitary dance they’d shared had left her a little out of sorts. Still, there was one component missing from the evening that should have made it more bearable. One _person_ that would have turned what felt like more of an obligation into something almost whimsical, almost magical.

 _Cullen_.

The sight of him stilled her breath as her toes edged out onto the first step leading down and to the courtyard. Her arm slid out from Krem’s as her body inched closer to taking the first step down. He was standing at the base of the stone staircase. He wasn’t looking at her, hadn’t seen her yet, but to her, he was unmistakable.

There was no gleam of hard edged armor across his chest, only the twinkle of gold buttons and buckles. His shoulders and neck were unadorned by the coif of fur that usually framed it. The colors were still dark, and under the torches and moonlight, Isala couldn’t be certain if the coat and trousers were black or deep brown. She was betting on the latter, however.

The coat was almost military in fashion, but held some element of regality in the embroidery swirling around the double breasted buttons and across the shoulders. She could see that it was left open just past his waist to flow out behind him like a short duster. A style that made him seem more roguish that his usual buttoned-up mantle. There were a series of sashes pulled taught around his trim waist in colors that complimented his tawny hair and warm brown eyes. Shades of deepest red and gold. Choices that made her even more certain that the color of his coat had to be a rich, dark brown. She imagined the leather of his boots and gloves were similar. Like those of a bear from the Hinterlands.

He turned toward her at last, mask clasped between his large hands. She could make out the shape of it, even in the sparse light. The lion facade was distinct and looked expertly crafted from hard leather, gold and bronze. Though he wasn’t wearing it yet, Isala could imagine just how perfect it would complement everything about him. She smiled wide beneath her own delicate mask, feeling heat rush up her neck and into her face like a flame burning beneath her skin.

Cullen looked stunned, bordering on startled. It was a look that tightened something low in the body of the Inquisitor. A look that said she’d taken his breath away. That she’d stolen all thoughts from his mind save for ones of her. A look of wonderment, amazement and utter bewitchment. A look that slowly shifted into a soft smile as he took a step toward her, his boot planted firmly on the first step up just as Isala took the first step down.

Her smile only broadened as she took a second and third step toward the human who looked so much like a prince from some shemlen fairytale. She could hear the slithering of her skirts and bustle behind her as she slowly descended the steps, her nearly bare feet making almost no sound at all as she padded down the stone.

Cullen was poised to take another step toward her when a voice called out to him from across the courtyard. It turned the Commander’s head away from the Inquisitor and halted his advance up the staircase. Isala paused, following the path of the voice to a lone soldier racing across the grass. The recruit paused and saluted his Commander before hastily delivering a report. Isala couldn’t make out every word but she did catch something about a former Templar recruit and withdrawal and lyrium. It seemed quite urgent and quite dire for the Inquisition Commander to see to the issue.

Cullen spared the elven mage another brief look. His expression was apologetic, his eyes filled with longing, the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes for the struggle that was silently waging inside his mind. She watched as his lips mouthed the words _“Forgive me.”_ And she wasn’t sure if they’d been spoken aloud or not, but they’d been said never-the-less.

The Commander made short work of those few steps he’d taken and joined his messenger in a sudden jog toward the barracks. Isala hadn’t realized she’d taken several more steps down until Krem’s hand on her shoulder whirled her around.

She didn’t like the look in the Tevene’s eyes. It wasn’t quite pity, but it was something entirely too close to it. Isala swallowed hard and fought to compose her face, forgetting it was half hidden behind a mask. She cleared her throat so it would be even when she spoke.

“You said something about cake?” She hedged and Krem nudged her gently at the shoulder as he offered his arm once more.

“And lots of Antivan brandy.” He added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos make the writing go round...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is drunk and Solas is going our for a stroll...what could possibly happen?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this one is a beast. It seriously got away from me. I think in my head I meant for it to even continue on and to the next scene, but I had to stop...seriously...I just had to punch in a period and push my laptop away saying "Okay, no more!" Otherwise I don't think I would have ever wrapped this one up. Sheesh! Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy it. Now, let me go run off and get a flame retardant jumpsuit in case anyone wants to light me on fire after this one. >.

“Sera was never an agreeable girl…her tongue tells tales of rebellion…” Isala was singing absently to herself as she exited the Herald’s Rest. Her body was humming with the warm, pleasant balm of alcohol numbing out all her cares. The taste of brandy and frilly cakes lingered on her tongue. “But she was so fast, and quick with a bow…Solas?” The Inquisitor caught sight of the bald elf as he made his way toward the gates. He paused for a moment and regarded her with a soft, knowing smile and a nod of his head.

Isala clicked her tongue against her teeth and crossed the courtyard toward him. “It’s late…where you going?” She demanded playfully. Despite the hour, the great fortress was still buzzing with activity. Music wafted out from the Great Hall, pockets of conversation swelled in waves like crickets song and the musk of mulled wine and roasted meats permeated the night air.

The bare-faced elf glanced her over thoughtfully before replying, “For a stroll.”

Her eyebrows quirked. “A stroll…at…whatever time it is? It’s late and dark.”

“You’re drunk.” He mused, but it didn’t sound scolding. He was so good at scolding her.

Isala smiled wide. “I am, but that’s okay. You can be drunk and still go for a stroll.”

“You wish to join me then?” He asked and the Inquisitor replied by hooking her arm in his and tugging him toward the gates.

“C’mon, I’ll protect you.” If the sudden touch had startled the hedge mage, he never let it show, only smiling softly as they made their way out of Skyhold.

“Do you always take strolls at odd hours?” Isala asked as they crossed the endless bridge out of the stronghold. The air was crisp, almost biting against her skin, but it was as if the cold couldn’t reach her completely. Couldn’t sink into her skin and prickle gooseflesh or shake her bones. Even though she’d shed her long gloves earlier in the evening, her arms remained pleasantly shielded from the snowy air.

“Is this an odd hour?” He was looking straight ahead. “Are you even aware of the hour?”

Isala scrunched her face up, thankful it was no longer shielded by the halla mask. Wisps of her pale hair tickled her cheeks and nose as she lifted her chin indignantly at the flat-ear. “Of course I do! It’s…uh…um…” She began to chuckle and with the sound of her laughter came a chink in the older elf’s stern expression. “Shut up, it’s late.” She gave his arm a gentle slap, but it was hardly even felt beneath the long sleeve of silk. He was still dressed for the ball. He wore no extra layer or cloak to shield himself from the elements. Both of them slipped across the snow in nearly bare feet and thought nothing of it. There was a kind of peace in that. In walking arm-in-arm with her _lethalin_. A comfort she scarcely shared with anyone else.

The Inquisitor allowed a comfortable silence to stretch between them. She gazed out at the snowy night blanketed before them. Occasionally, her eyes scanned the heavens, marking the moons and constellations far above their heads. The cliffs surrounding Skyhold were quiet and Isala savored the stillness Solas led her into.

Finally, as patches of forest began to decorate the snow covered rock formations, she had to ask, “Where are we going?”

Solas tucked her arm a little tighter against his, touching the top of her hand with his free one. His fingertips were cold and sent a shiver across her skin. A shiver that felt like magic and left her tongue feeling like she’d licked a spark.

“You’ll see.” He murmured, ever looking forward as he led her farther away from the sanctity of Skyhold.

She eyed him suspiciously as they maneuvered through the icy slopes and into small passages in the rock. So far, the apostate had never led her astray. Though he was fond of his inner musings and of being vague to the point of irritating, he had gotten them this far. There was an itching voice in the back of Isala’s mind that told her to be wary, but she squashed it into silence and stifled her fears.

Even as he led her into the mouth of a small cave. It was barely more than a slit in the mountain. She had to unlace her arm from his in order to slip inside, having to turn sideways to slide her body between the rocks. She heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing as her bustle caught on one of the jagged edges and though she could not see the damage, a part of her mourned it all the same.

Though her stomach churned with a sudden flood of nerves, she pressed herself into the narrow opening behind Solas, following him into the complete and utter darkness beyond the crevasse. She opened her right palm, calling forward fire to light their path, but Solas’ long, slender fingers closed around her hand, extinguishing the flame before it could fully form. Her expression contorted to confusion and she could barely make out the lines of the other mage as he whispered in the dark.

“Patience, _da’len_.” His voice was little more than a murmur, but it echoed off the vastness of whatever they had just stepped into. Distantly, Isala thought she could hear water, but it was difficult to gauge such things in caves. She was reminded briefly of the wet, cold darkness of the caves along the Storm Coast and a knot twisted in her gut at the idea of what might be waiting for them up ahead. Giant spiders, darkspawn, something worse? Isala swallowed hard. This was not what she’d had in mind at the mention of a _stroll_. Though, when she felt Solas’ fingers lace into her own, she felt some of those fears subside. They were formidable. They were stronger together. There was nothing to fear. Solas had yet to lead her astray.

He pulled her gently, deeper into the mountain. She was uncertain as to how he could see what lay ahead of them any better than she could, but she never stumbled into a hole, never bumped into an unseen stalactite. He guided her blindly through the darkness as if he’d memorized the path.

And then, up ahead, she could see it. The first inklings of light. A faint, bluish glow in the emptiness. Deep mushrooms. They grew in the darkest of places, emitting their own sort of phosphorescence. At first they peeked out of the occasional crack in the wall and then more frequently behind water smoothed boulders and stalagmites. The sound of water grew nearer and Isala found that her steps were more sure footed now. The haze of the alcohol slowly burning out of her system. Sharpening her senses as she regained more and more clarity.

The light seemed to glow brighter the deeper they went and Isala realized so much light couldn’t be coming from the mushrooms alone. Her eyes flickered up to the ceiling as her foot landed in the first shallow puddle of cool, mountain water. A gasp echoed off the stones and the Inquisitor knew it had been her own mouth that had conjured the sound.

Above them, spanning the enormity of the ceiling, were thousands upon thousands of _lights_. They glowed a luminescent shade of crystalline blue and blanketed the rock formations like tiny chandeliers. Little glittering tendrils hung down from above, just out of reach. They seemed to grow denser farther into the cave and with their density came more light. So much so, that Isala could make out the pool of water that gathered in an underground lake. The sound of water she’d heard as only a trickle earlier, now something more pressing and urgent. She could see the small waterfall babbling down the smooth rock surface just ahead. The rippling water looking more like a pool of pure lyrium with the glow of the ceiling cast all around.

“Oh Solas, this is…” she licked her lips. She didn’t have an adjective that did it justice. There was simply no word that she knew to describe it.

“I have said this world is full of wonders for those who seek them.” He murmured absently.

Isala knelt by the vast pool of water before them. Her skirts had grown damp at the hems and as she knelt near the water’s edge, the moisture crept even father up the expensive materials. She skimmed her fingers along the water’s surface and withdrew it, expecting the magical blue light to linger on her fingertips. When the water ran clear she pressed her lips into a tight line.

“It’s not lyrium.” She stated and Solas came to kneel beside her, his own fingers swirling into the cool water.

“No, simply a marvel none remember exist.” He sounded almost sad as he said it and Isala found her attention pulled momentarily from the lake to the elven mage beside her. The glow above them was cast across his features like a kind of magic. The shimmer of something so mystical suited him and Isala found herself staring. Solas caught her in her focus and reached out suddenly, stroking wet fingertips down her cheek. She wondered how she must have looked to him. If the light glittered off the jewels sewn into her hair. If it set the paleness of her locks aglow. Solas had told her once that she changed everything. The look in his eyes. The smile on his face. It had been enough to drive her into action. It had been the first kiss they’d shared, and despite their efforts, not the last.

“Solas…why did you bring me here?” She probed gently.

He smiled ever so slightly. “If you’ll recall, it was _you_ who followed me here.”

Isala opened and closed her mouth. Her brow furrowed. He was right. At the time it had seemed like a great idea, but that was before the armor of liquor had faded. Now, she was nervous and unsure. Here in this beautiful, magical place, with this mysterious creature.

His thumb traced a cool line across her jaw and just beneath her lip. “Perhaps I should ask you why you chose to follow me.”

The Dalish elf let her lips part and his thumb grazed her bottom lip. Her tongue darted out reflexively to lick across it and instead flicked the subtle callous of his thumb. She hadn’t meant to, but once it was done she couldn’t help but glance up at the elf the digit belonged to.

“Careful.” He cautioned, but did not take his finger away from the press of her mouth. Gazing up from hooded lids she let her lips encircle that single digit in a chaste kiss. Then bit down gently with teeth and flicked at it once more with her tongue. She watched in dark fascination as Solas’ mouth parted in a silent hiss. His other fingers curling beneath her chin to cup her face as he slowly pushed his thumb into her mouth. She sucked hard once and then flattened her tongue down and leaned into his hand to push the digit farther into her throat before encircling it once more with the warm, wetness of her lips and drawing back.

Solas pulled his finger free with a sharp inhale as he rocked back on his heels and stood. “Enough.” It sounded like a warning.

Isala licked her lips, wetting her suddenly dry throat with a hard swallow as she rose to her feet. The pearls and jewels of her dress tinkling like music as she moved. She stared down the bare-faced elf before her. His arm was almost shaking, hand balled into a fist at his side. There was energy running along his body in a fine tremble like rage, as if it were taking everything inside of him to keep from exploding. The tips of his ears were reddened. Even in the ethereal blue light she could see it. There was a tightness to his jaw, a subtle twitching of a nerve running along it. He lips were a hard line and she could clearly see the rise and fall of his weighted breaths.

“No.” She defied him. That one word spoken like an order.

Solas inclined his eyes on the Inquisitor and she swore she saw lightning dancing in those steely depths. “Careful.” The warning he’d used before was clear, but she pressed him onward.

“No.” She repeated. “I’m tired of being _careful_. I’m tired of half measures and veiled threats. That we shouldn’t. That we can’t.” She took a step toward him and she swore he bowed up at her assertion. “You’ve kissed me in the Fade, let me touch you in our shared dreams, you’re bolder there, you want me there. You’re playing a game only you know the rules to, Solas. I don’t like games.”

“Don’t you, though?” His voice was tight, angry almost. “Prancing before half of Orlais like some golden halla for their spectacle.”

Isala had been poised to take another step, heel lifted, toes soaked into the wet stone, but her foot relaxed at his accusation. The wind loosening in her emboldened sails.

“You pranced too.” She breathed harshly. “I’m surprised you even showed.”

“I surprised myself.” He snarled, shoulders back, chin tilted ever so slightly. He was the embodiment of his name. Dressed in his finery, surrounded by what she could only describe as magic. He was a cruel and beautiful thing to behold.

“You seemed to like my prancing when it suited you.” She spat. After all, he’d been the one to stalk across the Great Hall and all but demand that she dance with him.

“Yes, just as you enjoyed my asking.”

Isala felt her face flame.

“That embarrasses you?” He asked.

“You’re not being fair.” She murmured, her eyes darting away and it was just enough that she didn’t see him move. In an instant he was on her, magic trailing around him as he closed the gap between them. His hand clenched around her jaw once more, thumb a rough press against her mouth. He leaned over her, mouth a deep breath away.

“And when did I ever claim to be fair?” His voice was a thick, harsh whisper against her skin. His thumb traced her bottom lip once more, pressing just enough to feel the edge of her teeth. She felt heat uncoiling in her middle to spread through her like a ghostly hand. It pooled and ached lower inside her until she squirmed against the line of his body.

“Every kiss, every touch, has been at the beckoning of your hungry eyes. I have cautioned you. I have turned from you in waking moments. Steeled myself against what will most assuredly be disaster, and yet you persist.” His free hand snaked between the slits in the fabric of her gown to slide along her bare thighs. “You are a child, _da’len_.”

“What does that make you, _hahren_?” She breathed cooly.

Solas brushed against her cheek with his own before biting along the edge of her ear. The low chuckle that rumbled in his mouth sent shivers down her spine and prickled gooseflesh along her skin.

“This must end.” He growled, but his hand had slid between her thighs, turning to part them enough to palm the moist heat concealed there. Isala inhaled sharply at the firm press of his hand against her sex. He stroked her roughly, fingertips probing over the delicate silk of her small clothes.

“So end it.” She huffed, eyes fluttering closed against the strength of his fingers. The growl that rumbled from his lips then was one that was barely coherent. Had she not heard it from elven lips she might have mistaken it for a beast dwelling within the cave. Solas flexed his hand and the sound of tearing fabric echoed in the endless cavern as he tore the last barrier away from her body. That little triangle of silk and lace was replaced by the cool press of his fingers and he slid them between her legs, caressing and coaxing the slick heat from her body.

Isala groaned against the heady touch of his nimble fingers. It wasn’t the caress of a tentative lover trying to ease pleasure from her, but the greedy press of passion. Rough. Demanding. Impatient.

His thumb applied pressure to her clit, just to let her know he was well aware of its precise location, and her hands clawed for purchase against his back. She clung to the fabric of his tunic, feet slipping against the water logged rocks. He adjusted his grip then. Hands shifting down to her hips. He lifted her from the floor, skirts dragging and dripping beneath her. She felt the cold press of stone against her ass even through the folds of dales loden wool that made up her bustle.

Solas seemed lower now, as if he’d placed her on a pedestal, though her bare toes still skimmed the ground. He was kneeling between her legs, hands sliding over the leather of her Dalish boots, behind her knees, between her thighs until he spread her legs wide before him.

She swallowed a knot that was threatening her breath. She could see him down the length of her bodice, his eyes cast up from the dark knit of his brows. Pleats of embroidered and bejeweled fabric slid down to cover her legs, his hands, and what he’d exposed, but Solas fisted his fingers suddenly into her skirts and tore the cumbersome material to suit him.          

The Dalish woman could scarcely stop the gasp from catching in her throat. He tore through her gown and gazed up at her with the eyes of a predator. Hungry and without mercy. He watched her, watching him, as he licked a slow line from opening to clit. Isala sucked in a harsh breath as he paused there over the tender hood of flesh. His lips sealed around her and there was warmth and sweet pressure as his tongue flicked at her in agonizing precision.

The Inquisitor watched him until her eyelids betrayed her and she closed her eyes to the exquisite sensation. His hands kneading roughly against her thighs as he devoured her in slow, sure strokes of his tongue. Her mouth opened and closed convulsively as small sounds escaped her lips, her mouth drying out from her quick breaths.

She gave her weight over to the solid rock beneath her, leaning her tailbone against it, leaning her back upon it, thrusting her breasts skyward in heaving mounds under the delicate fabric of her gown. She stroked the smooth skin of his head, caressed and tugged at the points of his ears until his hands snapped up to snatch her own wandering fingers down beneath his grasp. He pinned her wrists to either side of her hips, holding her in place, helpless to his ministrations as he licked and sucked and pushed at her with little flicks of what she knew had to be magic.

That smoldering weight building between her legs grew heavy and threatened just on the edge of spilling over. Her thighs were trembling, nails digging at whatever scraps of skin or fabric she could reach, her vision blurred as she stared up into a starry sky that wasn’t a sky at all. He’d drive her right to the brink of slipping her skin and then dance around that crucial spot long enough to reset. It was agony. Wonderful, agony and she begged. Dread Wolf take her but she begged.

“ _Messere_ Lavellan?” A soft, feminine voice called. She sounded far away. “Your Worship?” The voice again. Tentative. Quiet. It sounded like Laisa, her chambermaid. But that was impossible.

Isala sat up as much as she was able, lifting her head, ears quirking to listen. The voice called out again and she was certain this time, but Solas was undaunted. He gave a heavy flick and she spasmed.

Laisa’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure once more.

“Solas…where did you…bring me?” Her voice was breathless, the words broken between muted whines. He didn’t answer. He didn’t let up. He’d stopped dancing and was bringing her in earnest now, but she already knew. Damn him.

“This…isn’t… _real_ …”

It took only the anguished moans of her realization to snap her free of the dream. Isala sat up in the tangle of her sheets ramrod straight. Her room was dark. Her window closed. She couldn’t breathe past the throbbing ache between her thighs and when she saw the silhouette of a stranger creep just over the landing of her staircase she reacted without thought.

The veilstrike came down in a glowing field of almost sickly green. She heard the intruder scream an instant before the weight of a body slammed into the floorboards. It had been a feminine voice. A familiar voice.

“ _Fenedhis_!” Isala exclaimed, tripping over her sheets to clamor out of her bed. “Laisa?” The Inquisitor nearly Fade stepped across the room to her chambermaid who was groaning in a heap on the floor. “Shit!” She swore in common. “Laisa, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” She knelt down by the small city elf and helped her to sit up. “I thought you were…oh, I don’t know what I thought. You startled me is all. I’m so sorry.”

Laisa blinked her large brown eyes several times as she fought to focus. The Inquisitor winced. She’d only just begun learning the specialties of a Rift Mage and hardly understood the strength of her new spells.

“Are you alright? _Ir abelas_. I’m so sorry.” She repeated in both common and elvish.

Laisa rubbed her head, pushing back the wild strands of red hair from her freckled face. “Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed your sleep, _Messere_.” Laisa was from the Kirkwall alienage. As much as Isala preferred not to have servants of any sort, she liked Laisa. Liked her company and her sweet nature. “It’s just, there were noises, and I thought perhaps you were having a nightmare or something might have been wrong or…oh please forgive me?” She lowered her eyes to the floor in reverence and Isala gave the other elf a quick shake at the shoulders.

“None of that. There’s nothing to apologize for. I wronged you in this and I…appreciate, your concern for me.” The Inquisitor smiled, body still aching from the all-too-real dream she’d been dragged from.

Laisa smiled weakly. “Well, I’ll just be getting back to my duties then.”

Isala’s eyes darted to the closed window. The moons were waning in the starry sky. Night was still thick upon them.

“Duties? At this hour?” She asked.

“We’re cleaning up from the ball, Your Worship. It’s how I heard the noise from your quarters. I was finishing up around the throne and heard you cry out.”

Isala swallowed hard. She licked her lips once and smiled. “Well, I think perhaps that’s enough cleaning for one evening.”

“But---”

“Come on, all of you are relieved. That mess isn’t going anywhere between now and morning. Everyone should be allowed some rest.” Isala commanded, hearing the irony in her own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos...you know the rest.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala can't sleep...and neither can the Commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh these two. I wanted to pay a little homage to the actual love scene between Cullen and the Inquisitor. As if, that wasn't the first time they'd almost gotten down on a desk.

She stood for a long while, just staring out at the night sky through the ruined wall just outside of the war room. The moonlight spilling in through the gaping rubble was hypnotizing. The silver wisps of light piercing through the otherwise darkened hall to cool against her skin.

She couldn’t sleep. No. That wasn’t it. She was _afraid_ to sleep. She was a mage, had been for so many years now…she should have been more aware. She shouldn’t have been so easily fooled. But it was so real. So much like the waking world she couldn’t…no, she didn’t _want_ to. She knew that was the real reason. It wasn’t that she couldn’t discern the Fade from the waking world. She simply didn’t allow herself to. Dreaming was so much easier than being awake.

Isala sighed, shifting on her bare feet to face the massive doors of the war room. If she stayed in her room, she’d end up falling asleep again. If she wandered the courtyard, she’d have to inevitably explain herself or talk to someone too curious to let her be. At least at the war table she could be productive. Read over a few reports. Map out the next expedition. She knew they would be heading into the Western Approach soon and it seemed they knew very little about the vast desert.

She padded softly over to the great wooden doors and with her hand raised to open them, noticed they were already parted slightly. The gap was too small to slip through, but wide enough to look into.

The Inquisitor tiled her head a little to the side and peered inside the darkened room. There wasn’t much to see without candlelight. A dark foyer, the subtle outline of the massive table, the towering stained glass windows and a silhouette of a man down on one knee.

There was a soft murmur lifting from his lips, a whispered prayer. Isala could just make out the words as they drifted up and into the darkness.

“…they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter…do _not_ falter…” his breath shuddered from him in a sigh. “Andraste preserve me.”

Isala licked her lips and took a single step back from the door, considering her next moments. She felt like she’d just stumbled upon something she wasn’t meant to see. Something intimate and terribly personal, and yet…Cullen was not one to weigh his burdens upon others. He would remove himself from an equation before allowing himself to become a liability, even if he was the only one who saw himself as such.

Her hand was light against the heavy wooden door, but she parted it easily enough to slip through.

“Cullen?” She called out softly as the door clicked shut behind her.

He stood and spun in one great motion, framed in the light of the windows like some chosen, holy thing.

“Isala?” Her name was a hushed breath across his lips. A choked confession on his tongue. He stood without armor, yet his shoulders were weighed down. She’d never seen him without leather to hide his fingers; without metal and cloth concealing nearly every inch of him. Now he stood before her in little more than a shirt and trousers with his feet haphazardly covered by unlaced boots.

She wanted to run to him. The urge suddenly so strong she’d crossed nearly to the war table before she had presence of mind enough to stop herself.

“I…I didn’t know anyone else was up.” He said sheepishly. She watched him run a single, bare hand through his unkempt hair and squeeze just behind his neck. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, reassuring him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

The Inquisitor moved around the massive war table, more slowly now. The hem of her sleeping gown tickling the tops of her feet as it swirled just above the floor. As she left the table behind she found she could make out more of the Commander’s details. The undone laces loosening his shirt, the hem untucked. The darkened shadows beneath his eyes. The faint tremble in his hands.

“I don’t wish to disturb you.” She blurted. Why had she walked in when he’d clearly come here for privacy he felt he couldn’t get inside his own bedchamber? “I can leave if you…” She didn’t finish the sentence as she turned back toward the doors.

The firm, warm grip of his hand around her wrist spun her back and nearly into his arms.

“Don’t go!” His fingers slid slowly from her wrist, down her hand. “That is…you don’t have to go.” He tried for a smile and failed and the elf stepped into the circle of his arms then. Her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Cullen closed his eyes reflexively, his much larger hand sliding up to cover hers, holding it against his skin.

“Cullen…you can talk to me.” She reassured him gently. Her pale eyes searched his face in the moonlight but he gave her only a weak smile.

“Thank you, but it’s just bad dreams.” He nuzzled her palm, placing a kiss in its center that Isala felt all the way to her toes. He curled her knuckles down into a fist, kissing across those too as he gazed at her with sad eyes. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

The elven mage swallowed hard. Guild swimming up hard and fast as a tidal wave inside of her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sleep. Just that she didn’t want to show her face in the Fade. She felt as confused as a newly awakened mage and just as unsure of herself. Part of her wanted Solas. Wanted the familiar touch of another elvhen. She was drawn to him in ways that were both magical and primal. Longed for the caress of his magic pushing against her own. Needed the sound of ancient elven purred from a tongue that was…Creators…

Isala took a deep, shaking breath, clenching her thighs together beneath the long chemise. She swallowed hard and willed herself back to the here and now. To him. To Cullen. This human she could not keep away from, despite…

“I missed you tonight.” She confessed softly. Surprised at the sound of her own voice.

Cullen loosened his hold on her hand, lowering it along with his own but not completely letting go.

“I am sorry.” He held her gaze while he apologized. His eyes were so warm. Always so warm. “I wanted to be there.”

“You were.” She interjected quickly. “I saw you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, pulling at the little scar across his lip. “I saw you too.” The smile broadened. “At the top of the stairs…you looked like…” She could almost see the heat rising into his cheeks. Eyes lowering in bashful adoration. “I have no words.”

Creators, what was it about this man. This human.

“You looked like a Prince.” She told him and that earned her another smile.

“I would not have done justice at your side.” He whispered. Isala shook her head. Her pale hair curling over her delicate shoulders and over the layers of chiffon.

“Stop that.” She hissed. “You were perfect, would have been perfect…you’re more than what I hoped for.”

His eyes rolled up beneath the filtered light of the moons and there was a weight in them now that hadn’t quite been there before. Somehow, Isala knew they weren’t just talking about the ball anymore. At least, _she_ wasn’t.

She felt heavy. There was a burden against her chest she couldn’t explain. It made it difficult to breathe and so, she held her breath.

When she felt his knuckles brush against her cheek her breath huffed out in a nervous chuckle. She drew her face back and away from his tender touch, feeling suddenly unworthy of it.

She stepped back, her bare feet crushing against the wisps of gauzy fabric that made up her gown.

“I’m only saddened we did not share a dance.” She admitted in retreat.

Cullen claimed the space she’d put between them. She couldn’t help but watch the linen of his shirt open where the laces were undone. The flesh beneath was muscled and strong. His shoulders were broad, moving tightly beneath the fabric. His hand reached out, touching her at the hip, just barely, just a graze of fingertips, but Isala stilled.

He licked his lips and drew his hand back slightly, tilting his palm up in offering as he bowed gently at the waist. “Then dance with me now.” His voice was so soft. So inviting. Isala felt her heart stop for an instant.

She touched his palm with the barest tips of her fingers first and then, slowly, so slowly, she slid her hand in his and let him draw her little by little toward him. His other hand nestled at the swell of her hip and found its way around to the small of her back. He pulled her close, curling his fingers around her hand. Her free hand hesitated only a moment before resting against his chest. She could feel the warmth of him beneath the linen, the hardness of the muscles hiding there.

“I must warn you, I’m not much of a dancer.” He murmured.

She was blushing. She knew she must be. “That makes two of us.”

She was trying to remember how to breathe as they took the first step. Moonlight and shadow crossing over their faces as they moved in a slow circle near the windows. He looked at her as if he could see something no one else could. Something deeper. Something purer. When he looked at her like that, she felt like…she wasn’t sure if she could explain it. If there were words for it. In the common tongue or otherwise.

“Happy Birthday.” He said, voice a whisper.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“I had wanted to get you something, but I…I didn’t know…and then I---”

“Shh,” She shook her head. “ _This_ is more than anything I could have asked for, Cullen. This is perfect.”

His lips were warm when they brushed against hers, like the rest of him. He kissed her softly at first. Gently, chastely, and then, a little deeper. She parted her lips, opened her mouth to him. She slid her tongue just inside, caressing his, welcoming him. The hand she’d pressed against his chest snaked around his neck, beckoning him closer. The one he held barely touching the small of her back suddenly jerked her against his frame. Their dancing slowed to a near halt as they unlaced fingers. Each eager to touch some other aspect of the other.

Isala hooked her arm around his neck, drawing his mouth down as if she could climb inside of it. His braced between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide. His arms were strong around her and she could feel the hard press of muscles beneath every inch of fabric. She snuck a hand beneath the loose collar of his shirt, feeling the heat of his bare skin at the top of his back. Her other hand curled into his hair as she kissed him.

They were moving, ever moving. Isala couldn’t see where to until the back of her thighs bumped the edge of the war table. The kiss broke for less than an instant and she used the sudden jarring to adjust where her hands were. She let them fall to her sides only to slip them beneath the untucked and bellowing fabric of Cullen’s shirt. The elf couldn’t help the small sound that purred from her mouth as she touched the hard, rippling flesh of the Commander’s abdomen. Each and every muscle honed to hardened perfection.

She wanted to remove the linen entirely but she would need his cooperation for that and she didn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to ask. Instead, her hands dipped lower to the rim of his trousers. She felt for the tight, crossing laces that held the fabric taught to his trim waist. Her fingers worked swiftly, but the loops pulled awkwardly and she felt the strings knot. The elf groaned against Cullen’s lips, her hands finding purchase against the hard press of him beneath the trousers.

“ _Maker_.” He swore softly, breaking away from her mouth to run his teeth across the vallaslin at her chin, nibbling the curve of her jaw as his breath quickened.

She abandoned the knot and rubbed her hand against the barrier of fabric, feeling him hard and ready beneath it. She maneuvered just so that she was balanced on the very edge of the war table, her legs parting in invitation. Cullen sank between them amidst the layers of delicate chiffon that covered her. He could feel the heat at the very center of her, despite the skirts and instinct rocked him against that heat.

Isala arced her back, hips tilting up in offering. Her hands taking up new posts against his ass, heels hooking behind his thighs. She urged him, pulled him as roughly against her as the cumbersome materials of their clothing would allow. He groaned against her throat and she moaned into the emptiness as he rubbed and rocked and ground himself against her. That hard length creating sweet friction against parts of her that were already mentally worked up.

The table shook with the force of his rhythm. Scrolls slid from the surface. Markers lost their place on the large map. Cullen let go of her, hands splaying wide on the table to either side of her body. Her tailbone almost hurt from the force, balancing on a thread at the table’s edge. His hand slipped and she heard something clink against the wood before rolling to the floor with an audible shattering of glass.

Isala couldn’t help it. She looked over to see what had broken. Cullen hesitated then stilled. His hand was covered in thick, black ink. It was running in a pool across the table and down to the floor where the inkwell had undoubtedly fallen and shattered.

The Inquisitor tilted her head back and almost laughed. “Shit.” She huffed, breathlessly. Somewhere, she knew, Fen’Harel was laughing at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos, you know you wanna!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor and the Commander try to clean up yet another mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baking soda...apparently. Do they have baking soda in Thedas? All well, guess we'll have to improvise!

“ _Maker’s breath_!” Cullen swore from across the vast space. He’d rushed out of the war room in search for something, _anything,_ that might clean the mess they’d made. The Inquisitor, on the other hand, had debated the effects of fire on the rapidly staining ink. She knew there were cleaning agents in the kitchens, but without asking someone, Isala had no idea exactly what to use.

Through some miracle, they’d managed to avoid getting the ink on any of the maps or parchments scattered across the massive war table. Cullen had taken much of the black stain across his hand and the remainder lay in a small, shallow pool on the stone floor below.

“Where is everyone? That hall was buzzing when I came through earlier.” Cullen growled from the double doors. He crossed back to the table where Isala was crouched, plucking tiny shards of glass from the mess. The ink was creeping onto her fingertips and beneath her nails and she’d already scraped the edge of her gown in it.

“I sent them to bed. It is rather late, Cullen.” Isala stated evenly. Now that the glass was in her palm, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Yes, of course.” He huffed coming to kneel nearby. “I’d hoped to borrow a cloth from one of the servants I saw cleaning earlier. There isn’t anything useful in Josephine’s office.” He sighed. “Here, let me take that.” He gestured with a nod at the handful of glass.

Isala glanced down at the ink splattered shards in her small hand. “Tear a bit of my dress. I don’t want you to cut your hand.”

If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the Commander scoffed then. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

The elf’s eyes were stern when she met the human’s. “Cullen, please. Just tear a bit off the bottom. It’s already ruined anyway.”

He hesitated, but her eyes remained firm. Cullen took the delicate fabric of her dress between his hands, the ink-stained one instantly creating prints. She watched him take a breath and then heard the choked cry of fabric straining and tearing. Whether it was from his strength or the delicacy of the skirts, the material shredded in a waist high split that left her slender legs suddenly exposed.

“ _Maker_!” Cullen swore, dropping the remnants of the dress he held. His eyes immediately falling to the floor. “Forgive me! I…I—”

“No, this is good.” Isala assured him. “We can use this.” She took up one side of the dress in her free hand and thrust it toward the human. “Here, take this and tear it into another strip.”

“Inquisitor, I—”

“It’s alright, Cullen.”

The Commander didn’t question her again. His large hands made quick work of ripping through the fabric once more and Isala pulled the last of the threads free with her own hand. With the first strip dislodged from the bodice she was able to discard the bits of glass into it, creating something like a little pouch that she tied off and settled onto the floor. With both hands free, she continued what Cullen had started, ripping larger strips from the chemise to use as rags.

She handed one to Cullen. “See what you can get wiped clean from the table. I’ll work on the floor here.”

The human stared at the cloth in his hand with a kind of regret in his warm brown eyes but did as she asked, rising to wipe the table clean.

The ink absorbed into the delicate fabric quickly and it took several strips of cloth to make any progress on the mess. When all that remained was a dark stain Isala gathered the blackened remnants of her skirts and padded into Josephine’s office, tossing them into the silent fireplace along with the little bag of glass.

With a little motion of her fingertips, the elven mage had drawn a glyph into the air and flames sprang up into the fireplace. She could almost feel Cullen tensing behind her and she was reminded of what the Commander had once been, and in many ways, still was.

A Templar.

“I’ll have someone come see about getting the stains out.” She murmured, eyes fixated on the flames as she spoke. She felt Cullen shift behind her and she bit her bottom lip. How different a position might she have been in at this very moment had that ink pot not been where it was? She sighed a long exhale at the thought.

“I am sorry.” Cullen began. “About your gown.”

Isala rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Cullen…” she spun around to face him, the fire crackling behind her. “Don’t apologize. I asked you to do it, remember? I don’t mind the gown.” She shrugged, glancing down at the tattered ruins of her night dress. Though, now, it looked like a strange, mangled bodice at best. The skirts had been torn up to her waist and only a narrow train of fabric remained. Her toned thighs were exposed to view and even the intimate silk of her small clothes could be seen plainly.

Cullen looked around the room quickly and then fixed his gaze at the floor, a flush of crimson rushing up his neck and into his cheeks.

Isala smiled, wetting her lips. “You act as if you’ve never seen a woman without her skirts before, Commander.” She took a few calculated steps toward him, though he remained unmoved. His eyes never wandering.

“Oh I have…I mean…that is…” he sighed, forgetting his chivalry long enough to meet her gaze. She was within arm’s length now. He could have reached out and touched her. “You are the Inquisitor. You should not have to walk back to your quarters…” he struggled for the right word.

“Naked?” She offered, smiling. “Cullen, have your forgotten I’m Dalish? This is just a step down from normal.” She was grinning now.

The human didn’t seem as amused. Without another word he pulled the shirt over his head and held it out to her. Isala stared, dumbfounded for several heartbeats. He was…Creators he was carved from Ironbark. His chest, his abdomen, his shoulders, his arms. Every inch of bare flesh was hard and muscled and she felt her breath catch in her throat as her words died where they formed.

“Please, at least take this.” He held out the shirt he’d just been wearing. Isala found it difficult to argue and held her arms up in acceptance. Cullen helped her slip the warm garment over her head and arms and she was suddenly engulfed in soft linen. It hung well past her hips and over her thighs. It would have made an exceptional night shirt in truth and she had to resist the urge to bring the edge of the sleeves up to her nose to breathe in. Already she felt as if the Commander were holding her gingerly in his arms, a thought she could have slept all night to.

“Thank you.” She said at last.

Cullen smiled, seemingly pleased with her shrouded in his clothes. “You’re most welcome.”

“Escort me to my quarters?” Isala prompted, finding the willpower to turn her gaze away from the finely chiseled human before her.

“Uh, em, _your_ quarters?” She could almost hear him swallow hard.

Isala smiled and glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes, so that I can give you your shirt back.” She made it sound as innocent and mundane as she could. “Unless you had intended to walk back to the barracks bare-chested?”

“Um, well, I, that is…” he was rubbing the back of his neck, like he always did when he was nervous or anxious. The tension across his chest and in his arms as he moved…Isala held her breath.

“C’mon, it’s not far.” She urged, forcing herself to look away and start for the door. In truth she could have just Fade stepped all the way to her room. She could have hidden herself in magic if she were that concerned for her modesty, but now that she had his shirt around her, she wasn’t in a rush to take it off.

“Alright.” He murmured, falling into stride beside her. Isala had to resist the urge to squeal to herself and bit down on her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. All the times she’d tried to lure him up to her room and all she had to do was take her clothes off. How utterly simplistic.

The elf couldn’t squash the chuckle in her throat and Cullen eyed her sideways.

“Something amusing?” He asked.

“Hm, oh no, nothing funny about any of this.” She teased and that earned her a sheepish grin from the Commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are still enjoying this silliness. Does anyone want to read a post-Trespasser story with Isala and Cullen...because I might have started one...  
> Comments/Kudos=<3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander follows the Inquisitor to her chambers...to get his shirt back...yes...that's it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! Sorry for the delay XD I was updating my other fic and then sort of got carried away with updates there and well...sorry about that :/
> 
> In any case, here is the latest installment for those of you still tuning in. I had intended it to be longer, as I so often do, but this felt like a good stopping point before jumping to "morning". Look for another update this week hopefully.
> 
> Also, the most wonderful thing was drawn last week. Isala and her love!!! I am still in awe of it myself!
> 
> http://noctuaalba.tumblr.com/image/146321586936
> 
> Go forth and check her out. Commission her. Throw money at her and tell her she's amazing because she deserves it! XD

He took the last few steps more slowly than the others. His eyes scanning the room as his head rose over the bannister. Isala had already taken the last of the steps ahead of him and the Commander found his eyes wandering over the slender elven woman as she crossed into the room.

She was a wild and beautiful thing. Her pale hair curling around behind her long ears and down her back like spun moonlight. The faint traces of ancient elven writing that skimmed her forehead like a mystical circlet. The toned expanse of her legs peeking out from beneath his own shirt as she padded across the room in delicate bare feet.

“I’ll just be a moment.” She offered over her shoulder. She’d stopped in front of her wardrobe and withdrew a slip of material into her hands before disappearing behind a dressing screen.

Cullen remained at the top of the stairs, at the very edge of truly entering into her bedroom. The Commander kept his hands fixed at his sides while he waited, as if he were simply awaiting orders rather than standing in the Inquisitors quarters, without his shirt on.

After a few moments, Isala emerged from behind the screen with a garment of her own on. This one was shorter than the first. The slinky material fell like water over her lithe body and left little to the imagination.

Cullen let his gaze fall to the floor.

“Cullen, you _can_ come inside a bit more.” Her voice was gentle, teasing. “You act as if something’s wrong.”

“No, n-nothing’s…” He blurted a little too hastily. Cullen licked his lips and tried again. “Everything is fine.” He was rubbing the back of his neck again.

She had crossed the room and stopped less than a foot away. His shirt hung across her arm. Her soft eyes stared up at him with the barest hint of concern pulling at their aquamarine depths.

“Do I frighten you, Cullen?” She asked quietly.

Cullen reacted almost instinctively. His hand dropping from his neck. He took a step as if he meant to touch her, but his hand fell back to his sides.

“No, of course not. Have I done something to make you believe… _Maker_ , I…you could never…”

Isala’s gaze fell away then. She searched the wooden floor, the stained glass windows, the cold stone walls, anywhere but his face.

“It’s just, back there, in Josephine’s office, you flinched when I lit the fireplace and I wonder sometimes, what you must think of me. What could you think of me?” Her voice trailed off and Cullen took another step into the room. She felt his fingers brush down her cheek before he gently lifted her chin with the barest of pressure.

“What I think of you…what I believe…is that you are something… _special_.” He murmured.

Isala let her eyes meet the molten gaze of the Commander whose touch sent a little thrill through her body. There was a weight to his eyes that she felt inside her chest. It had nothing to do with the exposed flesh of his torso or the heat she felt radiating from his skin. It was the way he could look at her. Like he saw something past the moment they stood in. Like he could see a future there. A happy ending.

“There are moments when I want to touch you, but I’m afraid you’ll shy away.” Why was she telling him this? Why confess to some preposterous insecurity that made almost no sense?

Isala shook her head then, trying to cover the previous statement up with a smile. “Pay me no mind. I’m being ridiculous.” She held out his forgotten shirt in offering. “Your shirt, Commander.”

It was her hand that he grabbed, and the shirt fell haphazardly at their feet. He pressed her palm against the bare skin of his chest, just over his heart. He was almost hot to the touch. Alive and solid beneath her fingertips. She could very nearly feel the heavy thumping of his pulse and Isala swallowed to coat her suddenly dry throat.

“I’m not shying away, Isala.”

Creators, when he said her name…

The elven Inquisitor licked her lips and let her fingers spread wide across his skin as she allowed her eyes to wander over his form. It felt like an invitation and a promise and Isala warred with herself for a moment over the silent opportunity. Could they? Would he? Now?

“Will you humor me?” She asked softly, resisting every urge in her body. Willing herself to be more than this primal need.

His answer came in the lift in his brow and the soft smile that pulled at the little scar above his mouth.

Isala let her hand slowly fall away from his chest, as difficult as it was. “Lie down over there.” She motioned toward the sofa that sat nestled against the long banister of her staircase. The arching, stained glass windows casting moonlight and shadow across the large piece of furniture and farther into the room.

Cullen followed her gesture with his eyes, giving her a curious look before turning slowly to _humor her_.

“On your front.” She added before he could reach the couch. Cullen shot her a look over his shoulder and Isala bit her bottom lip as she watched her Commander lower himself onto her sofa. His muscles shifted beneath the skin in his arms and back as he found a comfortable laying position on his stomach. His face turned so that he could still see the elven mage standing at the edge of the room.

“On your order.” He teased gently and Isala took another moment to simply gaze at him lying there before she made her way over to the couch.

She held her breath as she took a seat at the very edge of the cushions. She was sitting parallel with the Commander’s waist and very nearly didn’t fit with Cullen resting comfortably against the bulk of the sofa.

The elf quieted her racing pulse as her hands slowly slid from the base of the human’s spine, up to the broad expanse of his shoulders. His warm skin was smooth and lean save for the occasional forgotten scar. Isala let herself simply learn the terrain of his muscles, his skin; let herself take in the story of his body as she caressed him. She knew she’d never get much purchase from this angle and so, without much warning, she adjusted her position. Isala climbed up and over the human lying on her couch, straddling his lower back suddenly.

She felt Cullen tense, rising a little from the sofa to attempt to catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder. She ignored his reaction, anticipating it in a way, and continued tracing gentle lines over his back.

"What are you…” he began, just as her fingers gripped the curve of his neck, where he was infamous for touching out of anxiety. “Oh…that’s…rather nice…” She felt him relaxing beneath her hands, sinking back against the cushions as she kneaded his neck and shoulders.

Isala smiled. “I wondered if you’d ever had a massage. You’re always rubbing your neck and I can only imagine the tension you must feel.” She was using her thumbs to root out knots beneath his skin.

“I can’t say that I have.” He murmured, half into the pillows.

“Well, now you can.”

She heard him making low, satisfied noises as she worked through the tension in his muscles. Isala smiled at his appreciative groans and continued along quietly while she struggled to ignore the fact that neither of them were particularly dressed and she was positioned precariously atop him. It he had rolled over…

“Better?” She asked softly when her fingers had grown too tired to keep going.

Cullen didn’t answer at first and Isala leaned down across his back to hear him in case he’d been speaking into the cushions. All she heard, however, was the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. Deep inhales and long exhales of a steady pace.

He’d fallen asleep.

Isala felt the little smile tugging at her lips as she listened to the Commander breathing beneath her. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her weight from his body, worried she might wake the sleeping human. When his breathing didn’t change, Isala drew the small blanket resting on the back of the couch down across his form and folded her legs beneath herself on the floor. She sat there, for how long, she wasn’t sure, simply watching him sleep.

What was it about him? What made him different? What was it about this shemlen man that had her twisted up in knots? She’d never been a closed minded sort of person. Her clan often traded with humans and rarely came into confrontation with them. She’d seen and spoken to several of them before her Keeper had sent her to the conclave and yet, Cullen stood out among the rest. In an Inquisition overflowing with diversity, he continued to stand out to her.

_“You do not love Cullen?”_

Solas’ question played over in her thoughts. Her answer to the other elf becoming more confusing by the day.

_“I do not know.”_

Looking at the sleeping man in her room now, she felt something stirring inside her chest, a kind of juxtaposition she couldn’t explain. An intense weight that fluttered inside of her like the delicate wings of butterflies. Both heavy and uplifting.

Creators she couldn’t.

Could she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos if you are still reading and loving!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning afters are always awkward. The Inquisitors are no exception...even when nothing happened :/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning...tons of sweet fluff up ahead. I kept going off on adorable Cullen tangents in this one. Couldn't seem to stop myself. It was like my fingers had a mind of their own XD

“N-no…l-leave…leave me…”

Isala opened her eyes to the sound of Cullen’s voice. Her room was dark, the candles having long since burned out. She could see that the sky was just beginning to pale, but the stars had not yet left the heavens.

She wasn’t sure when she’d drifted off, or when she’d laid her head on the cushions of the couch. At some point, Cullen had rolled onto his side and she’d nestled down into the empty space his movement had left. Now, the Commander was shifting uneasily beneath the small blanket, his eyes flicking wildly beneath his closed lids. A fine sheen of sweat had started across his furrowed brow and he was making soft, defiant sounds in his throat.

Her smaller hand slid over his larger one, unsure of what to do.

“Cullen?” She breathed his name, not really wanting to wake him, but feeling uneasy with allowing the nightmare to continue.

His breath rushed out in a half-growled huff and his hand contracted around hers. His grip was bruising, crushing her fingers into his palm. She smothered the strangled yelp in her throat, biting her lip against the painful constriction of his hand around hers. The mark that marred her palm beginning to glow faintly between his clenched fingers.

Isala swallowed hard and fought to slow her pulse as it leapt into her throat. Instead of fighting him, instead of jarring him awake, instead of panic, the Inquisitor calmed herself, relaxing her cramped hand and arm.

“ _Elgara vallas, da'len_ …” She began, voice soft and unsure. It had been so long since she’d heard the Dalish lullaby, but she could never forget the words.

“ _Melava somniar_ … _Mala tara aravas_ … _Ara ma'desen melar_ …” She continued, finding the right pitch and rhythm.

“ _Iras ma ghilas, da'len_ … _Ara ma'nedan ashir_ … _Dirthara lothlenan'as_ … _Bal emma mala dir_ …” Isala reached out with her free hand as she sang, brushing back the soft curls on the human’s head. She caressed his brow with the back of her fingers and felt his hand begin to relax around hers.

“ _Tel'enfenim, da'len_ … _Irassal ma ghilas_ … _Ma garas mir renan_ … _Ara ma'athlan vhenas_ …” As she neared the end of the lullaby, she felt Cullen’s hand loosen completely around hers, but he didn’t fully let go. His eyes were still and his face lax with sleep. Isala smiled and cooed the last line. “ _Ara ma'athlan vhenas._ ”

There was a sound at the top of the stairs, a soft shifting of feet. Isala poked her head up at the intrusion and found the skittish eyes of Laisa glinting back at her through the darkness. The city elf was smiling wistfully from the steps, her arms full of clean water for the basin and fresh cloths.

“I remember that one.” The servant whispered as she took a few meager steps inside.

Isala smiled at the young elf. “It’s Dalish.” She had thought Laisa to be alienage born.

“And so was I, until I was six, Your Worship.” Laisa’s large brown eyes saddened at the mention of her childhood and Isala could only imagine what tragedy had brought her into the walls of Kirkwall.

Laisa glanced around nervously, her eyes never lingering too long on the sleeping form of the Commander.

“I don’t wish to disturb you, _messere._ ” She intoned. “I shall come back later.”

“Wait!” Isala hissed in as loud a whisper as she could manage. The Inquisitor slid her hand, ever-so-slowly, from Cullen’s and stood. She motioned for her chambermaid to set down the items she’d brought and Laisa made quick work of refilling the basin and replacing the cloths.

When she’d finished she gave Isala a brief nod. “Anything else, Your Worship?”

Isala smiled. “Yes, actually. Laisa, I need your help. I need you to manage several tasks for me and all of them rather quickly, can you do that?”

The red-head nodded rapidly and Isala began laying out her instructions to the younger elf. She needed the stain in the war room cleaned and the ink well replaced. Laisa seemed confident the stain could be removed with a powder from the kitchen. She also needed messengers to speak with Leliana and Josephine the moment they had woken, instructing them to see the Inquisitor in her chambers before any other meetings. She would have breakfast catered to her quarters, but didn’t wish for the two advisors to know.

“Let it be a surprise.” Isala finished with a grin.

Laisa nodded. “Will that be all, Your Worship?”

“One last thing, and this is a task I am entrusting to you specifically, Laisa.” She could see the young elf’s eyes grow eager and wide. “You must go to the Commander’s quarters, fetch his clothes and usual armor and bring them here as quickly and quietly as possible. Do this before anything else and tell no one.”

Laisa nodded once more, her red hair bobbing around her ears.

“Thank you.” Isala said, giving the servant her leave.

Cullen was still slumbering quietly from the couch and the sky had just begun to pale. She knew Leliana and Josephine were both early to rise and that these moments were fleeting.

The Dalish mage sighed and padded over to the basin resting on her bureau. She splashed some of the fresh water onto her face and cleaned her hands. She dressed quickly and tied back her pale hair. She began lighting the sconces on the walls with barely more than a wave of her hand, tracing tiny fire glyphs in the air. For the fireplace, however, an extra log on the dying embers was enough to stoke the gentle flames back to life.

As the revived fire crackled before her she heard the creak of her bedroom door. Laisa emerged behind the bannister, her arms full of Cullen’s familiar attire. The lithe elf could barely carry the ensemble, but had managed to stack the smaller and lighter pieces inside the breastplate Cullen always wore.

 _“Ma serannas_.” Isala thanked the girl, taking the accoutrements into her own arms.

“Your Worship.” Laisa bowed her head once and hurried back down the stairs to complete her other tasks. The girl was efficient and diligent. Isala had no doubt in her ability to complete all that the Inquisitor had requested.

Cullen groaned a sleepy sigh as he stretched against the cushions. His eyes blinked open and closed slowly as he drug himself from his dreams. Isala crossed to the center of the room, resting his armor and clothes onto her bed.

“Good morning, Commander.” She spoke softly, a gentle smile spreading across her delicate features.

Cullen smiled, sleep still heavy on his face. He shifted comfortably against the cushions, eyes still closed.

“Mmm, good morning.” His voice was like the purring of some great cat. He inhaled deeply, stretching once more, eyes blinking slowly open before shooting wide. Cullen jolted upright, the small blanket sliding to the floor in his haste. “Uh…” he looked startled and a little embarrassed as he fumbled at the pillows he’d kicked from the couch. “Um, Inquisitor, I um…I must have fallen asleep…” he licked his lips and Isala covered her laughter with the back of her hand.

“Cullen, it’s alright.” She assured him, still trying to hide the snicker in her voice. “I promise not to tell anyone.”

That seemed to sober the Commander. His warm amber eyes gazing up at the elven woman across from him. He opened his mouth and closed it and Isala found herself watching how the little scar above his lip pulled and moved as he worked out his expression.

“No, it’s not…I don’t mind…” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Maker, I am terrible at this.”

Isala giggled and came to crouch before him so that she could stare up into his handsome face. “At _morning afters_?” She teased and Cullen actually baulked. She watched as crimson crept up his throat and into his face and it only fueled her giggles.

The mage placed a slender hand on the human’s knee and smiled at him in earnest. “Did you at least sleep well? You seemed a little restless.”

The discomfiture seemed to fade from Cullen’s face as he gazed down at Isala. She watched that little scar pull at his top lip as he smiled faintly.

“Yes, actually. Better than usual.” He admitted. “I remember hearing a voice…singing. I don’t recall the words. I’m not even sure I understood them…they sounded…”

“Elvish?” Isala asked sheepishly and the soft smile that had been playing across the Commander’s face broadened.

“You sing beautifully.” He complimented.

Isala shook her head. “I think all Dalish children learn that lullaby. It’s nothing special.”

She felt his palm slide along her cheek, fingertips just grazing the shell of her ear. The Inquisitor stifled a shudder from the tender caress as she leaned into his warm, solid hand.

“It was to me.” He murmured and the elven mage felt something stir inside her. That heavy fluttering that held her lungs hostage.

Isala stood suddenly, Cullen’s hand falling away from her face. “Well, I took the liberty of sending for your…uniform.” She made her way back to the bed, gathering the armor and clothing into her arms. When she turned around, Cullen was incredibly close and she was reminded of how very shirtless he still was.

“Thank you.” He murmured as she handed over the accoutrements.

The elf shrugged. “My pleasure. After all, we can’t have the Commander showing up to breakfast without his infamous frock.” Isala said lightly. Her fingers giving the fur lined vestment a little ruffle.

“Breakfast?” Cullen asked.

“Yes. I’ve sent for all my advisors to meet me in my quarters for a surprise breakfast.” She winked. “Meanwhile, the war room is being cleaned and the inkwell replaced.”

The human smiled halfway. “My, you’ve thought of everything. Leliana would be proud.”

Isala licked her lips. “Yes well, I know how many ears Skyhold’s walls have, and we are brimming with gossip these days.”

Cullen’s smile sobered then. “Does it bother you?” He asked and Isala was taken back by the seriousness of his question. She hadn’t been prepared for it and it took her a moment to respond.

“Me? No.” She shook her head. Why did her cheeks burn? “Not for me, I thought, you…” Her mouth opened and closed. Now _she_ was turning into the awkward one.

“Then let them talk.” His face was serious but his smile was warm.

Isala felt her breath hitch.

She took a step back and motioned to her dressing screen and the water basin on the wardrobe.

“You can dress over there if you like.” She offered, trying not to stare at him too hard. “The sixth bell just rang before you woke. I imagine we don’t have a lot of time before Josephine and Leliana arrive.” Isala licked her lips and held her breath as Cullen nodded and made his way to the dressing screen.

When he was behind it, the elf let her shoulders relax and allowed the breath to ease out of her lungs. She was surprised at her racing pulse and the tightness in her chest. She could hear the shifting of cloth and the gentle tinkling of metal buckles coming from behind the screen. Isala tried not to imagine the Commander slipping into the sturdy leathers and handcrafted metal. She tried to keep the images of his taught muscles pulling beneath the skin as he fitted his body with armor. She tried so hard, in fact, she’d barely realized she’d been moving toward the dressing screen until she was standing right in front of it.

“Do you…need any…help?” She winced as the question fell from her mouth. Why had she asked him that? Why should he need her help getting dressed in something he wore every day? Creators, what was wrong with her?

“One of the first things we learned in training is how to fasten our armor on our own.” Cullen answered evenly from behind the screen. Isala nodded. Of course they did. It was a stupid question, after all.

“O-of course.” She stammered, wincing once more.

Cullen stepped out from behind the screen. His shirts in place, hands already covered in soft, buttery leather, boots laced and guards buckled in. He was holding the small breastplate in his hands, straps and buckles jingling softly. The human smiled bashfully at her and took a step closer.

“But I’d be a fool to turn down the offer.”

Isala felt her pale eyes fasten to him immediately, weighing his expression and trying not to appear too eager. It was an invitation she couldn’t very well refuse.

Cullen held out the breast plate and Isala took it into her hands. She found that it slid into place rather easily, having been specially crafted for the Commander’s body alone. The buckles seemed rather self-explanatory and her nimble fingers made quick work of fastening them. The pauldrons came next and the gauntlets were similarly attached. Isala tried to keep focused on pulling the leather taught, feeding the straps into the buckles, and not how it all made her feel. There was something oddly sensual about the entire process and the mage was vaguely aware that she was biting on her lower lip in deep concentration.

She helped him cross the deep burgundy fabric that hid much of his armor away and when she pulled the belt taught across his waist she felt a little involuntary huff escape her lips. She’d wondered so long at what all the armor looked like off the Commander, but the act of putting it on held an almost similar thrill. He was strong and powerful and every-bit a warrior, and yet, she knew that beneath all of the leather and metal, lay a gentleness and vulnerability that spoke of the man behind the title.

Isala drew the last piece of cloth from the back of the dressing screen. Her fingers brushing lightly though the peculiar fur that felt strangely of feathers. Cullen eased his arms through the garment and Isala smoothed it out over his shoulders. When she crossed back to the front of him, he stood there looking as he always did, and she reminded herself to treasure the small glimpse of the man she’d witnessed beneath the armor.

“Thank you.” He murmured and Isala nodded her approval.

“Anytime.”

There was a soft rapping at her door and Isala made her way down the staircase to answer it. Both her Spymaster and Ambassador stood on the other side of the large wooden door and Isala greeted them with a wide smile.

“Josephine! Leliana! Good morning to you both! So glad you could make it.” She widened the door to allow them to come through. “Cullen only just arrived.” She lied.

“Yes, we were delighted to receive your summons, Inquisitor. Though, I must say, this is a most unusual place for our morning meeting.” Josephine chattered, her ruffles swishing as she took to the stairs.

Isala smiled. “Josephine, I didn’t invite you all here for a meeting.”

Leliana gave the elf a sidelong glance. “Not a meeting?”

The Inquisitor shook her head, pale hair bobbing in its ponytail. “No. I thought we could all have breakfast together.” She announced as they reached the top of the landing. “As friends.”

The look on both women’s faces was of soft confusion. They glanced first at one another and then at the Commander, before smiling a slow, approving grin.

Isala heard the quick knocks of the servants on the outer door and called for them to enter. The scent of fresh eggs and pastry wafted up to the loft, along with the rich aroma of coffee, tea and cured meats. The food was brought up and settled around the Inquisitors table while all three of her advisors watched.

“Thank you.” The Inquisitor stated, giving the workers their leave.

“Oh Inquisitor, this is lovely, really.” Josephine purred.

“Josephine, please, call me—”

“Isala…” Cullen said suddenly and the mage found that she’d had the words stolen right out of her mouth. The Commander smiled then and spoke for his comrades. “Thank you for this, _Isala_.”

Creators, she loved the way he said her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are seriously the best thing you can offer...and fan art...that too :p


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor returns from the Western Approach with news. They are headed for Adamant, but in the lull in between, Cullen makes plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! I am SO sorry for the delays guys! Seriously, if you are still reading this fic, then bless you! I know I'm a terrible and inconsistent updater, but I am also just a weensie bit busy with...oh I don't know...triplets? I've also been TRYING to devote some time to getting my book finished. In any case, I wrote a thing! Just some floofy cuteness before heading to a sad place, ugh! I'll try not to leave you all hanging for nearly three months next time...but the holidays are approaching so, no promises.

How long had they been away? Weeks? Months? It felt like an eternity since she’d last seen the welcoming gates of Skyhold.

First, they’d traveled to Crestwood on Hawke’s advice to meet with her Grey Warden informant. What was meant to be a brief meeting at a secluded location turned into weeks of clearing out a dreary, demon infested landscape. At least they’d managed to liberate the village of Crestwood and capture Caer Bronach for the Inquisition. They’d even brought a little sunshine back to the sky. Though, Stroud’s information quickly led them back into Orlais and farther still, to the Western Approach.

From the rainy gloom of Crestwood, they’d made their way to the hot, burning sands of the Western Approach. Hawke and Stroud had met them there and together, they’d faced down Livius Erimond and managed to uncover the hideous manipulations that had befallen the Grey Warden order.

Isala sighed as she passed through the gates of Skyhold, her mount bristling beneath her. The elven mage rubbed gently at the great beast’s neck, soothing its weary mind. It had been a long road, for all of them. Erimond had fled to a fortress deeper into the desert and Isala feared what they would find there when they returned. She understood that time was precious. They’d disrupted the blood rituals Erimond had started at the ruined tower, but the Inquisitor knew that their presence would only speed up the Tevinter’s plans. They had to regroup and make for Adamant Fortress. They had to stop whatever Erimond and the Grey Wardens were doing there.

They led their steeds to the stables before trudging on to their respective quarters. There was very little time allotted for regrouping. They would need to prepare and make their way back to the unforgiving desert as quickly as possible if they were to stop whatever it was Erimond had planned. At best, they had a couple days to rest and prepare.

Isala gave her report to her advisors and retired, at their behest, to her quarters. She wasn’t any good to them exhausted and she couldn’t seem to argue. Her head had barely hit the pillow when a dark and dreamless sleep took her.

When she woke, the scent of torches being lit and evening supper filled her lungs. The fireplace in her quarters crackled softly as she rose from her bed. Isala stretched her slender limbs and padded toward the dying embers on bare feet. The elf threw another log on the fire and made her way to the water basin. She washed her face and untangled what remained of the long braid in her pale hair. She worked her fingers through the tendrils until they fell in long, near-white waves between her shoulder blades. The Inquisitor redressed into something that was almost comfortable. Pale, fresh leggings and a deep blue tunic that fell over the swell of her thighs. She pulled a few wide bands of soft fabric taut around her waist to give the tunic a little more shape, but otherwise, kept the ensemble simple. Her feet remained unceremoniously bare.

Isala made her way downstairs and into the Great Hall. For once, there were no evening meetings to attend. No judgements to pass. No grievances to hear. For the moment, at least, she was free to simply wander Skyhold. To have dinner. To enjoy a song or a story. To pretend, for a few fleeting moments that they weren’t marching to war tomorrow.

“Your Worship?”

Isala winced. She hadn’t meant to, but it happened almost on its own. The involuntary tightening of her lips into a hard line to keep from frowning or sighing or saying something too clipped or rash. She had just wanted to make it through one evening in obscurity before the harsh light of reality woke her once more.

The elven Inquisitor turned softly on her heel and managed to greet the scout with an almost smile.

“Yes?” She inquired evenly.

“Commander Cullen wished to see you in his office.”

Isala felt her brows lift involuntarily in soft surprise. Now? At this hour? The elven mage wondered what could have been on the Commander’s mind to request a meeting this late into the day. Still, she held her questions and nodded her agreement to the messenger, dismissing him.

It was a particularly still evening. The Inquisitor actually paused on the walkway just outside of the rotunda, admiring the quiet, clear skies and the soft murmur of evening activities. Isala breathed in deeply and let go of a long sigh as she continued on to the Commander’s office. She knocked briskly, a few quick raps against the heavy wooden door, before pushing it open with an audible creak.

“Cullen?” She inquired softly. “I was told you wanted to… see… me?” The office was empty, though lit with the warm flicker of candlelight. The torches set against the wall were burning brightly, as well as the candle that was typical of the Commander’s desk. All seemed to be in order, except, the Commander himself appeared to be missing.

Isala glanced around the room, unsure of what exactly she expected to find. Her eyes peered up the drop ladder that led to Cullen’s room, but couldn’t make out anyone upstairs.

“Cullen?” She called out into the upper floor, but there was no one.

The Dalish elf’s brows knit together in confusion. She didn’t think it was a cause for alarm. After all, Cullen was often busy well into the night, but she couldn’t understand why he would have sent a messenger to fetch her if he wouldn’t be where he’d summoned her.

Isala was about to turn back and search for the scout who had brought the dispatch when she noticed one of the side doors was ajar. The elven Inquisitor made her way to the slightly opened door and could see the flicker of soft candlelight out on the ramparts. A voice was fussing quietly and there was movement casting shadows along the parapets. Isala tilted her head to try and catch a glimpse of what was unfolding on the other side of the door, her slender fingers touching the wood ever-so-gently. The wood rasped at the hinge and the elf winced at her blunder before owning the intrusion. She pushed the door out further to announce herself and was momentarily stunned at what lay beyond the Commander’s office.

Cullen stood over a wide blanket laid out on the stone floor. Isala couldn’t be entirely certain, but she swore she had spotted wine and an array of food set out across the heavy cloth. Candles flickered from several places along the battlements and the bastion was bathed in soft, warm light.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen straightened to attention suddenly, but then relaxed his shoulders at the look of wonderment that colored her lovely features.

“I was told you wanted to see me?” Her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears, as she repeated herself from when she’d first entered his office.

“Yes, I… that is…” Cullen reached back and rubbed the base of his neck. His familiar, anxious gesture. The human smiled bashfully and inhaled. “Have you eaten?” He wasn’t dressed in his usual accoutrements of armor. Just the fur-lined tunic, that had become something of his signature garment, covered his typical dress. Even his hands were uncharacteristically bare.

Isala stepped farther out of the office, letting the door close fully behind her.

“Is all this… did you do this… for me?” The Dalish mage asked softly.

Cullen started to explain himself. To tell her that he thought she needed at least a few moments peace before the world came crashing down on them once more. That he’d wanted to spend a little time together, despite the fact that there was so very little time to spare. That he’d wanted to do something to show her, to tell her…

“Yes.” He said simply. The word hung there in the air between them and the Commander held his breath until he saw her smile.

“Cullen…” She felt her stomach do a little flip, her chest tightening as those strange and increasingly familiar sensations resurfaced. “Thank you. This is lovely.”

Cullen gestured to a spot on the blanket for her to sit and she folded her lissome legs beneath her before patting the space beside her. The Commander joined her with little more than a smile of acknowledgement. He handed her a small glass and filled it from a carafe with wine Josephine had recommended. Leliana had made a few recommendations to the kitchen and Cullen had taken her at her word as to what foods to have prepared.

Isala gazed at the display of food Cullen had chosen. Not only did it smell wonderful, but she could see that there was care taken in what to offer her. As a Dalish, she’d never been exposed to the rich cuisine of Orlais or even the hearty offerings of Ferelden. She knew Cullen was more used to thick soups and heavier foods. Things that could sustain life in a harsh, cold climate and keep a warrior strong. Still, he’d clearly requested a few things for her benefit.

“Hearth cakes?” She asked, reaching for one of the plump little rounds. She could smell the sweet herbs fried into the dough, along with the dried fruits.

“I know you like them.” Cullen smiled gently and Isala felt her cheeks begin to burn. It was the way he could look at her as if she were the last great thing in Thedas. As if she were the _only_ thing in Thedas that mattered. It made her breath hitch and she quickly focused her attentions on the picnic surrounding them.

They ate and drank and even found moments to laugh. The Inquisitor felt the weight of the prior week’s slipping away as she indulged in the delicious food, heady drink, and dulcet tones of rich laughter provided by the Commander himself.

She was still chuckling softly over her wine glass when she glanced at the human by her side. “Thank you for this. Truly.” The fires below were slowly being extinguished, one by one, as the hour grew later. She wasn’t sure how long they’d spend there on the ramparts, but she wasn’t eager for it to end. She was a mage, but she knew that even she did not possess that sort of magic.

Cullen gazed down at her and the smile was enough that it reached his eyes. The candlelight warmed the amber color of his irises until they were molten. Isala swallowed hard beneath the weight in his stare.

“You are most welcome.” He assured her. “I am glad I could do this for you.”

“For _us_.” She blurted. The words spilling from her wine stained lips before she could second guess them. Her eyes darted to the floor, lips pressed against the rim of her glass to keep any more words from being uttered.

“Yes…”

She heard him murmur it and lowered her glass. Her eyes rolled up to meet his and there was something there now that was raw and yearning. Something she was sure she mimicked in her own pale blue gaze.

His large hand slipped beneath her chin, gently cupping the curve of her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lips before he let his hand slide back to brace her neck.

“ _For us._ ” He echoed, and drew her mouth to his.

The kiss was controlled and full of intent and Isala couldn’t stop the small, needy sound that ebbed from her throat at the familiar sensation. She settled the glass on the first flat surface she felt and exchanged it for the warm press of the Commander’s skin. Her slender fingers sliding up his throat and over the soft stubble of his jaw. She caressed his ear with the pad of her thumb and wrapped her fingers in the rich, toffee colored curls of his hair.

The Inquisitor pulled him toward her, deepening the kiss into something with teeth and tongue. She abandoned the free hand that had been used to prop her body at an incline and instead, used it to gain purchase around the human’s shoulder. Cullen turned into the kiss, effectively lowering her onto the blanket, though he remained in a kind of perch above her. Holding her with one arm while the other bore his weight.

She savored the feel of his bare hands holding her, of the press of his body without the cumbersome armor hiding him, of the cool wetness of…

Isala broke the kiss with a sharp exhale as she realized a glass had been overturned and was now seeping into both the quilt beneath them and her pants.

“ _Maker’s breath_!” Cullen exclaimed as he realized what had happened and fumbled to right the already empty glass.

Isala sat up and moved away from the damp stain that had infected the blanket. For the part of her own clothing, she looked as if she’d been stabbed in the knee. The crimson liquid spreading easily through the pale colored fibers of her leggings.

“Cullen it’s alright. It’s not your fault,” she reassured him, but he was busy snatching a cloth from one of the baskets that had held aspects of their dinner. He ignored the spill on the quilt and focused on the Inquisitor’s offended knee, pressing the cloth over the stain to sop up what he could of it. His gaze was apologetic never-the-less.

“I suppose it’s better than ink.”

Isala couldn’t help but chuckle at his attempt to make light of the situation. She slid her hands over his where they rested on her knee.

“It’s fine, really.”

Cullen smiled, but the sigh that eased from his mouth was weary. “It’s getting late. Perhaps you’d like to get some rest. I’ll see to this.” He gestured to their picnic and the waning candles.

Isala opened her mouth to protest. To tell him she wanted to stay. To tell him…

“Right. Thank you.”

She could have kicked herself.

Cullen stood and helped her to her feet, taking the small towel from her hands in the process.

“Thank you.” She repeated awkwardly, not wanting to go.

“You’re most welcome.” He smiled faintly in the flickering light but did not ask her to stay. “Good night, Isala.”

“Good night, Cullen.”

She wondered if he would ever ask her to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment to let me know you're still reading! Also, you can follow me on tumblr at http://breathing2nd.tumblr.com/


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Adamant, Isala mourns the loss of Stroud and laments the decisions she has to make as Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heavy one folks. I actually intended to make the following two chapters one big one, but this felt like a good stopping point to come up for air...but I'll warn you, you're going to need tissues for the next one.

_Adamant_. She had thought she’d been prepared. They all did.

It was late and she knew she should have been resting. They were still a few days trek away from Skyhold. The mountain pass was familiar but no less of a burden. The fortress built in the isolation of a frozen landscape was not easily reached, even by those who called it _home_. She would need her strength to trudge through the snow and biting wind, but Isala didn’t want to sleep. It was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d had enough of the Fade for a lifetime. After Adamant, she envied the Dwarves and their dreamless sleep. If only she could have been so blessed.

She’d lost herself in the red-orange glow of her campfire. Her legs were covered in a thick, wool blanket but her toes were still freezing. It hardly seemed to matter though. There was a numbness to her now, so great she almost physically ached from it.

 _Stroud_.

She hadn’t been able to save them both. There hadn’t been time. Hadn’t been another way. She had to believe that. Had to believe that there was no other choice. That his sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.

And the Grey Wardens…

Isala sighed and took a sip of the Antivan brandy in the flask she clutched beneath the blanket.

Impossible choices. That was what it meant to lead. It meant you had to be able to make the hard calls. The ones no one else wanted to make. The impossible choices where no one was going to be happy in the end. No right or wrong, just impossible.

She’d made several of them at Adamant and she felt it like an anchor shackled to her heart.

Her choices had inspired some and had made others uneasy, angry even. Solas had been almost venomous with her at the thought of sparing the Wardens. Cole, for all of his compassion, hadn’t understood how she could ask them to join the Inquisition. Vivienne had never seen eye to eye with the Dalish Inquisitor, but the Imperial Enchanter knew just what to say to make a snide remark into something painful.

Isala took another long draw off the flask. Her eyes falling to the stout, handsome dwarf as he crossed the camp to join her. His friendly eyes were tired, like all of them, and his usual charming smile had wilted around the edges.

“I’d say you look like you need a drink, but I think you’re way ahead of me.” He took a seat on the stack of timber piled up for firewood. Varric tried to offer her a smile, but it just ended up looking like a condolence. “They say talking about it helps, but,” he sighed. “Look, I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like back there, but for what it’s worth, thanks, for saving Hawke. Fenris would have been pissed.” The dwarf chuckled, but it was half of its usual grandeur.

Isala could hear his voice, but she’d lost herself once more in the crackling of her campfire. The image of Stroud rushing after the Nightmare, buying them time, saving their lives, flickering in the flames.

“You could have gone with her.” Isala said absently.

“Who? With Hawke?” Varric asked. “What, and leave before I’ve found out how _this_ story ends?”

The elf looked at him then and her smile was weary. “I’m no Champion, Varric. I don’t think my tale will end with anyone singing my praises.”

“Ah, but you’re story isn’t over yet.” He nodded toward her and she passed him the flask. “If you think _anyone_ was singing Hawke’s praises, you’ve been reading someone else’s book.”

Isala managed a genuine smile then. “I am sorry she even had to be involved in all this. She seems like she’s been through enough.”

Varric took a quick draught and handed back the brandy. “I doubt I could have stopped her. Though I’m sure I’ll catch hell from the Elf.” He remarked and Isala knew he was speaking of Fenris.

“Oh, I don’t know, Varric. Hawke made Fenris sound rather charming.”

“Charming, eh?” The dwarf chuckled. “Maybe when all this is over, I’ll introduce you. Then you can tell me if _charming_ is the right word for him.”

Isala felt the smile touching her mouth then.

“Speaking of charming…” Varric’s gaze wandered past the campfire and Isala followed it to where Cullen was discussing something with a few soldiers. Orders most likely.

Isala took another long drink.

“Trouble in paradise?” Varric probed, but then quickly waved the question away. “Never mind. You don’t have to talk about it.”

The Dalish elf bit her bottom lip. Her eyes had started to burn, her nose itching as her vision blurred.

“I hardly knew Stroud, Varric, but he seemed a good man. A noble one. I barely knew Hawke as well, but, I knew she was important to you. I knew she had people that cared for her. People that would miss her terribly.” Her lip began to tremble and she swallowed quickly to quell it. “I’m sure Stroud is being missed just the same… but one of them had to stay… I… had to choose… and I…” Varric placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. His stout fingers giving her a gentle squeeze. He started to say something encouraging when Isala continued.

“I know you weren’t there, Varric, but I can’t help but think that this is just the first in a long line of impossible decisions. Choices that I have no right to be making.” She turned her pale blue-green eyes on him then and they were glassy and large. “What if it had been Blackwall, or Bull, or Solas I had leave behind?” They had been the three to follow her into the raw Fade along with Stroud and Hawke. “Six months ago they would have been just as strange to me as Stroud, but now…” she shook her head.

“Everyone knows the risks,” Varric murmured. "Especially Curly."

“I lost my clan when I became Inquisitor, Varric.” She hadn’t been able to save them from what happened in Wycombe. “I lost everyone I ever loved. I thought I was alone, here, but then… I’m not prepared to lose my companions. Not you, or Cassandra, or Cole or…” Her gaze rose to the gentle human wearing the mantle of Commander. To the man who, despite everything happening around them, had found his place… inside her heart.

“I don’t think I’m intended for him. He deserves a long life with someone who’ll be around to share it with him.” Isala stared at the glowing scar across her palm as a single tear caught in her lashes.

“Don’t talk like that.” Varric chided softly, but Isala shook her head.

“If he’d have been there, Varric, I would have chosen _him_ … I can’t… I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgement. Not when so many are depending on me. For better or worse… to make the impossible decisions.”

Varric opened his mouth to shoot holes in her theory when the elf’s eyes narrowed toward something behind him. The dwarf turned to follow Isala’s gaze, seeing a figure staggering in the snow at the edge of camp.

“Who is that?” Isala stood, the blanket falling around her bare feet.

The Inquisitor left the flask in the folds of wool as she started toward the stumbling human in scout armor. He collapsed as the elven mage reached him and Isala could see the blood around his mouth and dripping from his fingertips into the white snow.

She fell to her knees and scooped his head into her lap. Her hands were trembling. She was no healer and there was entirely too much blood.

“Report.” She whispered, hating herself as she asked it of him, but if there was danger just outside of camp. They had to know. She had to save the others, even if she couldn’t save this man.

“We…” his voice gurgled with blood, Isala could feel it melting the snow around her legs. “… hunting in the gully… Hudson thought he saw a bear…” The young man choked on his own blood and Isala used the edge of her tunic to try and wipe it from his lips. Varric was close, healers on his heels. The boy was beyond magic now. His bloodied fingers gripped the Inquisitor’s suddenly. His wide, green eyes staring wildly into hers. “… it… wasn’t… a bear.” He sighed, his body growing limp in her arms.

The healers surrounded them in the snow. Isala could hear others beginning to gather, but her eyes were on the worried dwarf who nodded in understanding.

“I’ll get Bianca.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos...do eet! <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor and co. race to save the lost scouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told a lie, it won't be this chapter. Next chapter is the tissues one. This one...ACTION! I would have kept going but kids woke up and this works well for drama stoppage. Teehee. Also, if anyone was curious, my method for dealing with rifts was always to distract wave 1 and just run up and do the first disruption, which usually knocks out all the little guys anyway, then worry about wave 2 or 3 as it comes, but with a similar idea of disrupting the rifts as quickly as possible since it harms the demons that survive it and usually kills wraiths right off. Depending on if you're on Nightmare mode or not...which Isala wasn't. #nerd.

Her steps were light and fast as they raced across the snow. There hadn’t been time to lace her greaves or buckle the light chest plate back onto her body. She’d only had presence of mind enough to reach for her staff before taking off in the direction the scout had come from.

Varric was hot on her heels, though not as lithe as the elven Inquisitor, he managed in the knee deep snow. Before they’d even left the camp, Isala had caught sight of her inner circle. Each one reaching for their weapons. Each one dropping everything they’d been doing to follow her.

Solas was a blur of blue light as he stepped out of the Fade and nearly at her side.

“The others are right behind you.” He offered, the bright blue glow of his barrier reaching out to encircle her and Varric in the same breath.

She could hear the jingle of armor and the panting of heavy breaths behind her, but she couldn’t slow her pace. There were at least two more soldiers down in the gully. Two more lives at stake. Two more people depending on her to make it in time.

Cole burst into view just ahead of her. A cloud of smoke dissipating around his lanky form.

“ _Cold, so cold… I don’t want to die… terror in the dark… despair…_ ” Cole’s voice was eerie and distant, reading the thoughts of those they were struggling to reach.

“They’re close!” Isala shouted out into the night, pushing her legs faster. Her staff glowed overhead, the runes meant to inflict additional harm toward demons casting a bright yellow haze over the Inquisitor.

The path dipped as the tree line thinned into an icy embankment. In the distance Isala could see the green light of a tear in the Fade. A rift. Wraiths dotted the gully like sickly green beacons. The icy shriek of a despair demon sent a chill down her spine. She couldn’t see the Inquisition scouts. Couldn’t make them out from this distance. She had to trust that they were still alive. That they’d made it in time.

Her hand glowed brightly as they began descending into the gully. The ice stung the balls of Isala’s feet but she raced down the embankment as if the almost burning cold didn’t exist. The mark on her palm burst to life suddenly as the rift swelled, recognizing the power drawing nearer toward it. She heard Cassandra and Blackwall shout at the demons as they approached, drawing their ire toward their waiting shields. The wraiths all seemed to converge on the warriors. The despair demon shrieked and hurled a bolt of ice. Isala could hear the deadly frozen spear shatter against metal as it was blocked. They had fought small skirmishes such as this before. They were a well-oiled machine now.

Her companions flanked her, separated into formations. Mages set barriers and glyphs. She could hear the hum of Vivienne’s spirit blade as it tore through a wraith. Dorian thrust his staff into the icy ground, electricity sparking wildly around him. Solas stayed close, but gave her room enough to work. She could hear the draw of Sera’s bow and the snap of Bianca as both archers fired into the night. Cole was a cloud of death, bursting in and out of view in a whirlwind of blades. Cassandra’s shouts and Blackwall’s grunts reminded her that the two warriors could hold back a tidal wave if needed, and The Iron Bull raged like a force of nature made of horns and axe alike.

For her part, the Inquisitor trusted that they could hold the line while she raced toward the rift, her hand already extended into the air. Her staff was still on her back when she began to disrupt the rift. With the minor wraiths and the despair demon distracted, she was able to work quickly and without interruption. The shockwave of the first disruption was enough to dissipate the initial wave of wraiths and the despair demon shrieked as it dissolved into a cloud of cold mist.

Isala pulled the staff from her back as the rift contorted and twisted. Its eerie tendrils reaching out as more demons pushed against the tear and demanded to be freed.

“Find the soldiers!” She shouted at anyone who was listening.

Light burst around them as the rift opened wider, bringing across the horrifying screech of terror with it. Isala’s eyes went to her feet, watching for the swirl of green light that would be her only warning.

“There!” A voice shouted from the top of the ridge. Isala’s gaze widened as she recognized it instantly. Her feet were already carrying her toward him. To warn him. To send him back.

 _Cullen_!

Shades spread out toward her companions as Terror demons began springing up beneath their feet. Isala was running now. As Cullen brought his troops down into the gully, she was running toward him. She could hear someone shout that they’d found one of the scouts. She wanted to feel relief, but couldn’t breathe past the terror gripping her heart as she crossed the ice.

“Go back!” She bellowed, but there was so much noise. Her hand pulsed, ached, as something else came through the rift behind her.

Cullen was sliding down the embankment, sword in hand. His men were finding their footing but Isala was having none of it.

“Go back! Get them out of here!” She was within shouting distance now. Cullen’s determined eyes focused on her, but there was confusion in their amber depths. “Get you men out of here, Commander!” She was still running towards him. A shade slithered toward the recruits at the top of the hill and Cole was just suddenly there. The shade hissed at the rogue, but then froze as Solas whirled his staff in an icy onslaught. Isala turned her gaze back on Cullen. He started to open his mouth. To insist, but Isala cut him off. “That’s an order, Commander! Get them out of here now!”

She could see that he didn’t agree, didn’t like her decision, but she didn’t care. He could be angry as long as he wanted… as long as he was alive.

Cullen took three steps up the embankment before Isala saw it. The swirl of sickly green light under his feet.

“Cullen!” She cried, magic enveloping her as she pulled the Fade around her and stepped through it, racing across the space that still separated them with otherworldly speed. Cullen turned at her voice, his face cast in the glow of the light beneath him.

The Commander was probably twice her weight and a wall of muscle and armor, but Isala ran into him as if he were made of sponge. Her small body collided with his with all the force she was capable of. Her shoulder rammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet and taking his place in the demon’s circle.

There was no time for the human to react before the Terror demon sprang from the ground directly beneath the Inquisitors feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment or kudos...I love talking to you all!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala and crew continue to fight off the demons overrunning the gully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...just kidding again on the tears guys...at almost 3K words, I had to cut it again. Next chapter though...its coming. I think I might have screwed up and had the Rift spit out 3 waves of demons and its supposed to just be 2 sets in the game...its been a while since I played and 3 sets was more epic in my head so all well. Also, thanks for being so patient. I live in Florida and when Matthew rolled in, it was bonkers for about a week there. Sorry for the delays...triplets plus hurricanes plus life = slooooooow writing. Thanks for sticking with me! Love you guys!
> 
> Oooh, and side note, listen to the song "This is a war" by The Phantoms, it was my theme song for this chapter :)

The sound was so much louder. Like a banshee’s wail. Her ears rang as her body was lifted from the snow by long, spindly limbs. Claws raked up her legs and back, tearing through fabric and flesh. The elven mage cried out beneath the shriek of the Terror demon that shot out of the ground and thrust her into the air.

She felt, more than heard, the pop of magic snap into place around her as Solas recast his barrier an instant before she landed in a heap in the snow. All the air rushed out of her lungs in a huff of pain, but the barrier had probably kept her from breaking any bones and for that small miracle, she was grateful.

Isala scrambled to regain her bearings as the demon towered over her and shrieked once more. A sound that could have paralyzed the sturdiest of men shook the ground around her and the Inquisitor gasped for breath. Her mouth gaped wildly, like a fish deprived of water, but her lungs had seized from the impact and she couldn’t breathe.

The Terror demon raised its impossibly long arms to strike the elf down, but as it reared back, Isala saw the point of a sword burst through its chest. The sound shook the snow from the tree limbs as the demon howled in pain. Isala watched in breathless horror as the demon spun on its assailant. The blade never budging from its impaled flesh as it whirled on Cullen, striking the human with one long, clawed limb.

Isala tried to scream his name, but no sound would come out. She was still struggling for breath and now the demon had turned its ire to the Commander.

The Inquisitor thrust her hand into the sky. There was no time to think, she could only react. Magic unlike anything she’d felt before it coursed through her veins, following a path that began in the center of her palm. The Anchor flared suddenly until its green light shone brightly from her delicate skin. She called that strange magic to her, felt the Fade glimmering in the air like the invisible waves of heat rising from a flame. She could see the delicate fabric of the Veil and with the Anchor she sundered it and formed a maelstrom all her own.

The Terror demon shrieked wildly as the momentary rift began pulling it apart and back into the Fade. Shades dissipated and shredded to their barest parts as the immense gravity of the Inquisitor’s power pulled them back across the Veil.

Isala’s hand shook with the effort to keep the tear open for as long as she could, long enough to remove the Terror demon that threatened them from existence. The small rift above them snapped closed with an audible sound as the elven mage collapsed back into the snow. She’d removed the immediate threats, but the Rift in the gully remained unaffected. Her magic had only removed some of them, but more demons remained, and even more had yet to come.

There was a shift in the snow beside her. Cullen fell to his knees at her side, his strong arms gathering her into his lap. Her lungs burned, but she was just beginning to get full, deep breaths into them.

"Isala.” His voice was shaking. The concern that colored those three syllables was palpable.

The elf focused the pale waters of her eyes on the human holding her. She could hear shouting, fighting, magic and metal all around them. She had to get up. Had to get to her feet. She was the only one who could close the rift. The only one who could chase back the nightmares that poured in from across the Veil.

“Go.” She choked on that one word.

Cullen’s face contorted in soft defiance as she dismissed him once more.

“Commander, we’ve found someone!” A soldier shouted from across the embankment. Cullen’s attentions went to his men for but a moment before those amber pools were back on the elf in his arms.

“Go with your men, Cullen. Get them out of here!” Isala commanded, lifting herself into something between sitting and reclining. Her world swam and Cullen steadied her.

“You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.” She insisted, swallowing back the nausea that blurred her vision momentarily.

“Isala…”

“This is not a discussion, Commander. Take your men, and go!” She insisted, sitting up fully.

“ _Please…I’m afraid you’ll…you’re hurt…I can’t leave you…I don’t want to lose y—_ ”

“Cole!” Isala snapped a warning to the waif-like boy as he appeared close by, reading thoughts that weren’t his own.

Solas approached, still glowing faintly with spent magic. His staff glittering with icy mist in his hand. He held a draught of red liquid out to the Inquisitor. A healing potion. It would numb the pain, speed up clotting in her blood, ward off shock and exhaustion.

“Inquisitor, there are still two Pride demons in the gully. The others are containing their advances but only _you_ can close that rift.” Solas stated firmly as she took the tonic from him.

Isala nodded and pulled the cork free from the glass flask. She drank the crimson potion in one long draw and left the glass in the snow.

“Alright.” She murmured, taking hold of Solas’ suddenly outstretched hand. Isala let the other elf pull her too her feet and she turned back to the Commander as he rose back onto his own. “You have your orders, Commander.” Her voice was cold and without compromise.

Cullen’s shoulders straightened and he nodded, even as his lips were drawn into a tight line, his eyes narrowed in defiance.

“Fall back!” He called out suddenly, directing his soldiers away from the fray.

Isala’s lips parted as if she might say something else, but the blood curdling timber of laughter echoing out of the gully stopped anything she hadn’t yet thought to utter.

In an instant, the Inquisitor’s attentions were once again on the rift and now, on the two towering behemoths that stalked out from its center.

Cole disappeared in a cloud of smoke, understanding that they were once again racing into battle. The crystal at the end of Solas’ staff pulsed with renewed power as he adjusted his grip into something more aggressive.

Isala pulled the staff from her back, surprised it hadn’t snapped with the impact of her fall. The runes enchanted into the weapon continued to glow a yellowish hue and only brightened as her bare hands touched the wood.

She glanced back at Cullen and could see the war raging behind his eyes. He didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t risk…

“Go, Commander!”

It was the last order she gave him before she wrapped the Fade around her and raced back down the embankment in a blur of ghostly blue light.

The first sound that met her as she emerged from her Fade Step was the roar of Cassandra’s War Cry. The strong sound of her voice instantly drew the attentions of the Pride demons. Normally, Isala would have opened a small rift just over the monsters, but she’d already spent what energy she’d held to expel the Shades and Terror demons. She simply didn’t possess the strength to repeat the spell.

Isala raced past the two goliaths, careful not to draw their ire to her intentions as both Cole and Solas stopped within striking range of the beasts. The Inquisitor thrust her hand into the sky, as she’d done earlier, the energy of the anchor instantly responding to the rift. She couldn’t disrupt it fully with the Pride demons still raging on this side of the Veil, but she could send a shock through the hulking giants. Stagger them. Stun them. Remind them who they were up against.

As the rift shattered with dislocated energies, the demons staggered, their cruel mouths turning toward the Inquisitor. Cassandra and Blackwall both called out to the beasts, trying to hold their attentions, but the demons would not be swayed. They now understood who threatened them most.

Solas was just suddenly there by her side, the cool balm of his barrier strengthening around her as he renewed the defensive magic.

From somewhere to her left she heard The Iron Bull roar wildly into the night, before the enormous Qunari barreled between the Pride demons, his axe swinging in a whirlwind of damage.

Isala heard the pop of magic spring up around them as Vivienne created a Distortion Field, slowing the demon’s advances.

Sera was a blur of rapid fire, bouncing in and out of the demon’s range, flasks of fire exploding around the creatures as she lit them up with arrows and threw bees into their faces.

The elven mage didn’t wait for her friends to finish the demons. She hurled boulders of magic from the Fade itself toward the demons and created gravitational maelstroms to bind them in place.

Bit by bit, the group picked the colossal demons apart, until they grew too weak to even move. Isala was already disrupting the rift once more as the Pride demons became little more than displaced energy. The rift burst in a contorted amalgamation of light before its eerie green tendrils pointed out that three more demons would push their way through before it could be sealed.

She heard the flasks of health draughts hit the icy ground as the wounded regrouped. Magic shimmered to life in renewed barriers and held spells in preparation for what was about to emerge from the rift. Sera had her bow drawn and Varric was staring down the sights of Bianca. Solas began casting Dispel on one of the glowing circles of light in an attempt to prevent at least one of the demons from emerging.

Three seemed like a small number of assailants. Unless…

“Everyone back up!” Isala shouted an instant before the rift boomed and two more Pride demons tore their way across the veil.

_Two_ demons. Not three.

“Did your dispel work?” She asked Solas, but the hedge mage gave her the answer with the sheer concern in his steely eyes.

“I did not get to fully cast…”

“Then where is the third?” Isala asked. Her eyes were wide, a little too much of the white showing as a thousand horrific scenarios played out in her mind.

Solas opened his mouth and closed it. When he started to speak again, Isala heard the humming of electricity tearing through the air. She dove at the bare-faced elf and sent them both into a tumble across the snow-covered ground an instant before the electric whip cut through the space where they’d been standing. Arcs of electricity burst from the singed space and burnt the bottoms of the Inquisitor’s feet and stung her ankles. Isala cried out above Solas as the magic burned her and the Pride demon chuckled low in its chest.

“Inquisitor!” Solas’ eyes were wide as he called out beneath her. Isala winced but scrambled to her feet, gritting her teeth through the pain biting into her heels.

“Move!” She shouted, wrapping her fingers around her forgotten staff and pulling the Fade around her. Solas didn’t question her intentions for an instant and with a kind of psychic tandem, echoed her spell with his own. The pair of elves stepped through the Fade at nearly the same moment, emerging behind the safety of a warrior’s shield.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” Cassandra asked, though she never took her eyes from the demons ahead of them.

Isala took a deep breath and steadied herself through the pain in her legs. “I’m fi—” She started to say, but was suddenly jerked out of the fray. Her body flying through the air by a force she hadn’t seen coming.

She landed in a heap in the snow halfway across the battlefield. Her back ached with an all-too-familiar soreness as the air whooshed from her lungs, the last of her barrier depleting as her eyes focused on the chilling sight that towered over her.

It held a round metal shield and was shrouded in the armor of the dead. It stared down at her with a face shrunken back with death. Teeth exposed on a lipless mouth. Empty eyes glowing red with contempt as it reached for its sword, the blade buried in the snow.

_A Revenant._

It had to have been the death of one of the scouts that had drawn it across the Veil and given it form. Part of Isala mourned the loss of one of her soldiers, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Not with the towering demon raising its sword to end her.

The Inquisitor reached for her staff, fingertips stretching for purchase in the snow. She felt the edge of the wood as the Revenant brought his massive blade down. There was a cold echo of sound as the blade of her staff bit against the demon’s weapon mere inches from her face. Isala’s arms trembled with the effort to hold the Revenant’s sword at bay. The undead warrior made no sound as it bared down on the elven mage and she felt the edge of its blade cut a slow, searing line against her jaw. Her teeth clenched against the pain as she swallowed a sound in her throat.

_Creators…_

Ice sped through the air at a speed that could only be created with magic. It crashed against the Revenant’s arms in a spray of snow and blue light before spreading up and down the demon’s arms.

“Inquisitor!” Solas called out, his magic flying through the air once more to burst across the undead’s armor.

Cole burst into being with the scent of brimstone lingering around him. His blades a fury of death as he cut into the Revenant over and over again.

The creature forgot the Inquisitor for only a moment, focusing on the new attackers and Isala quickly rolled out of its path feeling the welcomed relief of Solas’ barrier an instant later.

“Over here you ugly bastard!” Blackwall shouted, banging against his shield as he charged toward them.

The Revenant descended on the others. Its ire drawn out by their combined efforts. Isala risked a quick glance around the battlefield. They’d bested at least one of the Pride demons and were decimating the second. As the undead moved toward the Grey Warden taunting it, the demon shuddered suddenly. Isala caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Like watching a phantom slipping in and out of the Revenant’s form. Vivienne burst from within the demon like some specter made of light and magic. Her Fade Cloak falling away from her as her Spirit Blade shimmered back to life.

The Inquisitor climbed to her feet, pain lancing across her bare feet and up her legs from the Pride demon’s whip. She took in a mouthful of air and lifted her staff. Fire cracked from the crystal peak of the weapon as she began throwing magic at the demon. She whirled and thrust her staff toward the Revenant as her companions directed their attacks. All the while, the pale-haired elf was backing up to position herself between both the undead and the remaining Pride demon. When she’d reached a point evenly between them, she drew on what reserves she still possessed to tear open another rift in the Fade. One that would pull at the two demons until there was nothing left of them on this side of the Veil.

As the small rift began disassembling the remaining demons, Isala raised her hand to the pulsating breach that had allowed the demons across in the first place. She could feel it weakening, shrinking, growing more unstable. The anchor flared, pulsed, burned across her palm. She opened her fingers, splayed them wide, and disrupted the rift one final time. The resulting explosion of light and shadow was accompanied with the dying echoes of demons being trapped once more behind the Veil.

The elven mage closed her fingers into a fist as she collapsed to her knees in the snow. She had to tell herself that it could have been worse. That so many more might have died if she hadn’t made the decisions she’d chosen to make. People she wasn’t prepared to lose.

“You need a healer.” Cassandra’s voice brought her out of her melancholy and Isala turned her tropical eyes on the Seeker.

“I’m fine.” She reassured her, even as her body began to ache.

“I’m afraid she is right, Inquisitor.” It was Solas’ voice scolding her now. The other mage knelt beside her in the snow, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw. Isala winced and hissed between clenched teeth. “The blade cut deeply here.” He murmured, his eyes softening ever-so-slightly at her pain.

“You two with the _no shoes_.” Sera huffed. “Now you’re all Miss Burny Feet.”

Solas’ attention moved to the singed flesh of Isala’s bare feet and ankles. The skin around his eyes tightened, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“As I said, she needs a healer.” Cassandra growled.

“Well, let’s get her back to one then.” Varric huffed.

Bull grunted, moving his bulk into the circle gathering around her. “C’mon Boss, I saw the fall you took from that demon on the hill. You’ve got some nasty gashes there. Up you go.” He didn’t ask her permission, didn’t give her the choice. The Iron Bull lifted the small elven woman into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. She wasn’t sure if she’d have protested…much. She was exhausted. Between Adamant and now _this_ …she could handle being the one getting carried for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from the gully, the Inquisitor is treated for her wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a boring chapter ahead. It's short too, but I really wanted to throw this up to let you guys know that I'm not dead and I've literally had half of this stupid chapter written for months. Between the holidays and life in general (remember I have triplets) I simply haven't had the time or really much motivation. I also got swept away into the whirlwind romance of Kdramas, specifically Goblin: The Lonely and Great God XD If you haven't watched it...do it...lol. But it's over now and I'm trying to get my groove back. Your comments/kudos have seriously been a lifeline keeping me tethered to this world of fanfiction. I'll try to get back to normal very soon! Thank you all!

“Stitches!” Bull’s voice boomed as they broke across the tree line and into the encampment. Isala blinked her eyes open but they fell closed a moment later. Her lids were so heavy, her body cold and exhausted. She licked her lips and tasted blood across her mouth. She could still feel the cold breeze against her face as the Qunari carried her across the snow.

There were other voices. Commotion and hushed gasps as the Inquisitor and her companions emerged from the thick forest. Isala was vaguely aware of them all drawing nearer as the gentle shifting of the Qunari’s movements slowed.

“Chief?” Krem’s voice stood out among the chatter suddenly.

“Tell Stitches to get his ass over here now!” Bull ordered and then more softly said, “Boss? C’mon boss, open your eyes.”

"She is in shock.” It was Solas.

“No shit.” Bull grunted.

“Get her over by the fire.” Dorian chimed in and Isala felt herself moving once more. Her lids opened to slits. She could feel warmth drawing nearer. Could see a shifting, flickering light. The sound of other voices was louder here, some voices more distinct.

“What happened?” Josephine’s voice.

“One demon too many.” Varric now.

Then, one voice out of a sea of many demanded to be heard. She could have picked it out of a thousand others.

“ _Maker!_ ”

Armor shifted beneath the subtle sound of fabric and the Dalish elf forced her eyes open enough to see the bulky figure pushing his way through the gathering crowd. Cullen paused just a few paces away. His handsome face was stricken with worry for a moment, but quickly hardened.

“How did this happen?” His voice was less of a question and more like an accusation.

Isala felt The Iron Bull draw in a breath to answer the Commander’s demand, but the Qunari suddenly called out the name of his healer as Stitches arrived at last.

“Looks like some severe burns on her feet and ankles.” The Charger commented without needing any instruction. Isala knew that Stitches took his roll very seriously. He was a skilled healer who relied on the skill of his hands and the knowledge of herbs rather than magic. She felt a gentle pressure against her thigh and then higher around her ribs. “Some of these are deep. I’ll need to suture them. Bring her over to the tent.”

Movement again, though careful and controlled. She felt the temperature change as Bull brought her inside the tent used for the wounded and ailing. It was warmer and the air smelled of sweet herbs and the ash of a nearby fire. Something cool and thick suddenly coated her tender ankles and she hissed as pain stung its way across her singed flesh.

“This balm will help ease some of the pain, but you’ll need to avoid wearing boots for a few days.” Stitches instructed as he began bandaging her ankles in a fashion that wasn’t completely unfamiliar to the elf.

“I think I can manage that.” She smiled weakly, opening her eyes once more to watch her caretaker finish his work.

“You can lay her there for the moment, Chief.” Stitches gestured to an empty pallet on the floor while gathering what appeared to be a needle and thread, but the needle was larger than anything meant for conventional sewing and the thread stiffer than anything made from silk.

“I’m alright, Bull.” Isala reassured the Qunari, who seemed hesitant to put her down.

“What you are is on the verge of collapse. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet, Inquisitor. When was the last time you properly slept?” Stitches scolded her as he readied his tools.

The elven mage didn’t bother schooling her expression as the healer reprimanded her for not taking better care. She felt her ears grow a little warm as she accepted the reproach while The Iron Bull settled her down against the furs and quilts folded over themselves on the ground.

“A little armor might have been an idea.” Stitches scoffed as he probed the ruined edges of her tunic before tearing a larger hole in the side of the garment to give him room to work.

“There wasn’t time.” She murmured and then winced at the sting of antiseptic.

“You could at least offer her a drink first.” Bull grumbled.

“It’s better if she’s conscious, Chief.”

The big Qunari grunted his disapproval but acknowledged the small nod the Inquisitor gave him and with it, took his leave.

Isala tried to relax down into the layers cushioning her, but between the prick of the needle and the murmur of commotion just outside the tent, the elven mage was anything but.

“Is she…” The warm timber of Cullen’s voice drifted through the small part at the tent’s entrance.

“She’s tough, she’ll live.” Bull answered.

Isala felt another pull from the needle as Stitches drew the suture together.

“She had troops there to help, but…”

The Iron Bull cut off the Commander before he could finish, “But maybe she was trying to keep them alive.”

“At the cost of her own life?” Cullen sounded cross.

Isala thought she saw the shadow of the Qunari place his much larger hand on the shoulder of the human Commander. “I don’t think she was thinking about _herself_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't stop commenting and giving your love. It seriously keeps me connected to this :D


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala wakes in the night to find the Commander still up. It's a conversation she didn't expect to have, but tells herself is necessary...even if she wishes it never happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! I said I'd be back, eventually. Sorry for the LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG absence. I wish I had more free time to devote to all my loves, but unfortunately I usually only have room for one hobby at a time. I'm wondering if I'll have a little more time once the kiddos are in school, but probably not, I don't know, we'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, here is a chapter I haven't looked forward to writing, but had to be written. Don't hate me too much. We all know it will turn out alright in the end...right...RIGHT?!

 It was quiet when she blinked her eyes open. The thick stillness of the small hours blanketing the encampment. Isala wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but her body felt no better for it. She ached as she rose onto her elbows, her forearms planted against the quilts to support her weight. She could feel the stitches pull at her side and hip as she drew her body into a sitting position.

The Inquisitor took a deep breath and immediately winced from the movement. Now that all the adrenaline had left her system, all that remained was the lingering pain of her injuries. She didn’t even want to think about the snowy hike through the mountain pass that lay ahead of them.

After sitting for what felt like an age, the elven mage tested her weight against her gauze-wrapped feet. There was a sting to be sure, but the wounds were only across the tops of her feet and ankles, she could still walk. Not that there was much choice in the matter. The world would not stop because she was hurt.

She pulled one of the thinner quilts around her slender form and shuffled on the cool, earthen floor toward the gap in the tent. The wind had calmed and the great fire at the center of their camp had dwindled to something small, but still alive. Only the night’s watch remained posted at the edges of the encampment, staring out into the dark with tired, weary eyes.

Isala sighed, her heart heavy in her chest. Her eyes scanned the circle of tents and found candlelight still flickering in a few. One in particular, she’d hoped wouldn’t be. It might have kept her from disturbing him. It might have prevented her actions entirely. But her Commander was always the last to succumb to his dreams and the first to leave the comforts of his own bed. This night was no different.

It was warmer inside Cullen’s tent. She could fell the temperature shift even as her fingers reached for the flap that acted as a kind of door. She could smell the oil that kept his armor polished and the heavy parchment that would have littered his desk. Even out here, he couldn’t escape the flood of reports that drowned him in work.

Isala paused with her fingertips against the tent’s opening. What had she come here for? To tell him she was well? To ask why he wasn’t asleep? To see his face? Creators she didn’t know. The mage drew her fingers away from the sliver of light that led into Cullen’s world and let her hand fall to her side. She turned to leave, swallowing a sigh that threatened to give her away. The edge of the quilt brushed aside the flap as she spun and suddenly she heard the human call out from within.

“Is someone there?”

Isala stilled. _Walk away,_ she urged herself, but the elven Inquisitor ducked inside with a weak smile.

“Inquisitor?” He looked tired, so very tired. His cloak and armor sat in a little pile near his cot as if he’d thought about going to sleep but hadn’t quite found his way there. His tunic bellowed gently around his chest, showing a glimpse of the hard muscle beneath. Isala felt her mouth dry out and she licked her lips and tugged the quilt a little tighter around her.

“Yes, sorry, I wasn’t certain you were still awake. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She blurted.

Cullen moved from behind the small table, papers scattered across its rough wooden surface. “Are you alright? Should you really be up? Your injuries—”

“I’m fine.” She smiled at him, something warm and genuine this time, and he crossed the space to her in just a few short steps.

“When they brought you back to camp I—” The usual fine dusting of stubble that spread across his jaw was beginning to thicken into something more rugged. His eyes were glassy and the whites were stained with faint red lines. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, cup his cheek in her palm and brush her thumb against that strangely human skin. She wanted to draw him against her, open her quilt and share it with him. She wanted to be wrapped up in and around him and forget this night ever happened. She would have liked to forget the past few weeks had happened. Adamant, the Wardens, the Fade…

“I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She licked her lips, swallowing back the urge to throw herself into the warmth of his arms. “I’m alright, Cullen.” She assured him, but even to her it sounded like a lie.

“I’m relieved.” He answered, humoring her falsehood and covering his blatant concern. “You know you don’t have to go at this alone. You have an army at your side.”

"I wasn’t alone.” Isala reminded him.

“Yes, I know, your companions were there…but you shunned the reinforcements that came to your aid.” Somewhere in all that concern, Cullen’s voice grew harsh, frustrated and if Isala didn’t know better…angry. 

“Reinforcements that weren’t necessary, Cullen.” She replied, having to work to keep her voice soft and even. Were they fighting? She couldn’t quite tell.

“You ran off with no armor, blindly toward a rift…when we arrived—”

"Your men only complicated that fight.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. The bite of ire sinking into the syllables.

The broad human stilled. His expression grew stiff and wooden. The stoic face of a Commander receiving his reprimand.

“Did they?” His voice was flat.

Isala huffed out a frustrated sigh and it hurt. “We had everything under control. It wasn’t necessary to bring soldiers into the gully. It only put more lives at risk.” She tried to keep it from sounding like a scolding, but somehow it just felt like she was lecturing him. Isala wanted to take back the last few moments and just tell him she was glad to see him. To wrap her arms around him and just enjoy the feel of his warmth and the smell of his skin. Was it too late to start over?

“Under control?” He asked bitterly. “You were carried back to camp barely conscious! There were reports of a Revenant on the field!”

“And I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how a Revenant is created, Cullen. More men on the field just means more lives at stake.”

“What about _your life_?” Cullen’s large hand curled into a fist at his side.

Isala lowered her eyes. “I’ve closed countless rifts with a fraction of the people at my side.”

“And how many times have you come back to Skyhold bandaged and bruised?” His voice had softened. “How many times have to needed to seek a healer before even making your report?”

Isala opened her mouth and closed it. The concern that drown out his petulance left her struggling for words.

“How many times have you collapsed at the gates?”

She couldn’t look at him. She was afraid of what she’d find there burning in his amber eyes. Even without meeting his gaze, she could feel the weight of that burden baring down on her.

“I’m the only one who can close the rifts, Cullen.” It was a statement.

“And every time you come back from sealing one, I see a little more of the light has gone from your eyes.”

His confession jolted her gaze back to him so fast the quilt slipped a little from her grasp. Molten amber burned raw and unbidden before her and the Dalish elf felt unworthy of so much emotion from him. Not after Adamant. Not after…

“Isala,” _Creators_ , there he was, saying her name again. Like the ghost of butterfly wings across his lips. “Everyone who has joined the Inquisition is willing to give of their lives for its cause. We know the risks. We’ve accepted them, but we can’t lose you. _I_ can’t—”

She didn’t let him finish. She couldn’t.

“More men on the field would have just been more casualties.” She rushed the words out. “We’ve lost enough people already.” Her chest was tight. Pain ached between the little joints in her sternum. Her lungs were suddenly burning and there was no wound that she could accuse of causing it. Not one that could be seen.

“Is this about what happened at Adamant?” He probed gently, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isala, you cannot blame yourself for the loses there. This is war. There are casualties on both sides. I know it’s not easy but—”

“Don’t you understand, there are some people I’m not willing to lose!” Her eyes flickered up, unable to keep herself from looking at him, from seeing his reaction to her muddied confession.

His expression softened and sobered. All the frustration suddenly drained away until only the warmth of his understanding was left. The tension in his shoulders relaxed and his hands were idle and open at his sides.

“Isala…” He started to move toward her and she took a step back into her own quilt, jerking it from her own grasp. He reached out as if he’d help her but she flinched away as if he’d burn her.

“Cullen, I can’t do this anymore!” The words burst from her mouth and her fingertips were suddenly against her lips, as if she could contain anything else that tried to crawl out of them.

“What do you mean?” He’d grown still.

She was trembling now and it had nothing to do with the lost warmth of the quilt. Her mouth moved and she couldn’t stop it.

“This. _Us._ We need to end it.”

There was a moment where she saw the shock and confusion play out across his face before he lowered his gaze.

“I see.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I thought…” Cullen sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

She was biting her lip, holding her tongue lest it say anything else. The Dalish mage sucked in a sharp breath and steeled her face against his gaze when it focused on her at last. She wanted to apologize right then and take it back. She wanted to tell him it was all a lie. That she was just afraid. Afraid to let him love her…the way she loved him.

She turned away before anything else could be said and it was as her hand reached out for the tent that she heard him utter her name once more. A name she’d tried countless times to get him to say. Months of correcting him, of assuring him it was alright, that they didn’t need titles between them, and it was now, in these moments of all times, that he finally managed to use it without being asked to.

Isala stopped, her fingertips already feeling the cold kiss of air from outside. She told herself she had to do this, to save him so much grief somewhere else down the line. To let him have the happiness he deserved…with someone else.

“I’ll remind you to use my title, _Commander_.” She winced as she chided him with as strict a voice as she could muster, but it broke at the last.

“Of course… _Inquisitor_.”

She didn’t look back to see his face or to reclaim the forgotten quilt that had fallen to the floor. She didn’t risk seeing the hurt in his lovely golden eyes, knowing that she’d put it there. Isala kept walking in as straight a line as her feet could muster and let her tears freeze like jewels against her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not already, feel free to find me on tumblr @breathing2nd. I'm also super cool with meeting new people and being friends. I've got facebook as well and am always up for a chat :D
> 
> Hope you are all still lurking and loving me! Leave your comments and let me know!!!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isala is beginning to question everything...and as usual...Solas isn't exactly helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG HELLO! I can't believe I've been gone for nearly a year! I AM SO SORRY!!! XD
> 
> Seriously though, I thought I was probably done with fanfiction, all things considered. I hadn't written much of anything in a while, I was practically off Tumblr, I hadn't played DA:I since finishing my Nightmare campaign, and I figured no one was really reading this or any of my other works anyway.
> 
> Then...
> 
> I got a few random and unexpected comments from Fanfiction.net. Lovely, motivational, wonderful comments...and I'm a sucker for comments. So, here I am again. Keeping the dream alive, as it were. 
> 
> Am I a sucker for comments? Yes.  
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She was tracing glyphs in the snow with the tip of her toe, eyes staring out at the delicate snowflakes that fell in a steady rhythm around her. They were still a half days march from Skyhold. Mounted, they could have already been at the gates, but with the equipment and so many on foot, it was a slow crawl through the Frostback Mountains. After everything that had happened in the gully, their trek seemed to move even slower. Everyone was weary and made no attempt to hide the haggard look from their eyes.

Isala took a long draw from a delicately carved flask. Stitches had asked to see her to inspect and redress her wounds but she simply hadn’t found the motivation to abide the healer’s request. Instead, she’d found herself at the edge of camp with her weight cradled by the cold stone of a fallen boulder. The rock was massive and oddly shaped, with an almost cupped divot in its surface that the elf had nestled her small frame into. She let one hand drape haphazardly over the side of the stone while the other clutched the flask close to her chest. She supposed it wasn’t particularly inspiring for the Inquisitor to be getting sloshed on the journey home, but the elven mage didn’t feel much like a leader right then.

She took another sip, wincing at the slow burn of the brandy as it slid down her throat. The comfortable numbness of cold preventing her from concentrating on the pain in her legs, or side or even the edge of her jaw, which she’d failed to have sewn up, despite Stitches recommending it. Though, the chill couldn’t quite keep her from feeling the ache in her chest. The one that grew out from her heart and felt as if it might crush every other part of her.

_“We need to end it.”_

She couldn’t stop seeing his face the moment those words had escaped her mouth. The way his brows knitted together in a brief, fearful confusion before he’d covered it by the stoic mask of a soldier.

_“Isala…”_

The way he’d said her name, one last time, softly, like a prayer…

Isala closed her eyes and found him there behind her eyelids, breaking her heart all over again.

“It’s for the best.” She whispered aloud, but she wasn’t sure who needed convincing more.

They would be in Skyhold by tomorrow’s supper and then there would be more meetings at the wartable. There would be more strategy to plan. Adamant was behind them, but it was a small victory compared to what still awaited them. There was the Winter Palace and the threat upon Empress Celine. It would fall to the Inquisitor to navigate through the deadly web of political intrigue and court intricacies in order to prevent what she’d seen in that twisted future. A task she was far from prepared for.

“What am I doing here?” She sighed, flicking a bit of snow with the tip of her big toe. “Mythal take me into your council, guide your lost child…for I do not know the way anymore…”

The Dalish elf let her breath out in a shuddering sigh, a puff of white drifting out to scatter into nothingness. She heard the softest crunch of snow beneath light feet and her ears perked at the sudden intrusion.

“Yes?” She asked into the darkness, sitting up a little but immediately regretting it. The stitches in her side pulled, reminding her that the wounds were far from healed. She winced through gritted teeth as she listened for the intruder. “If you’ve come to deliver a message from the healer, you can tell him there are those who need his attentions more than I.”

“And if I have come with no such message?”

 _Solas_.

Isala straightened more against the improvised seat, causing her feet to dangle higher from the snow. She turned her head to look just as the taller elf glided past her, his hands laced behind his back, bare feet a ghost against the fresh snow.

“Solas, you…” The Inquisitor opened her mouth and closed it. Solas seemed focused on the dark dappling of trees before them. “Sorry, I thought perhaps you were someone Stitches sent to scold me.”

“I am not, though I have heard he is expecting you.” Solas answered, not looking at her.

Isala sighed, her breath drifting out in a long cloud of white. She leaned her head back against the cold rock and screwed her eyes shut. She just wanted the last few days to go away. The last few weeks even.

“Have you ever wished you could just erase the last few weeks of your life?” She asked him, not opening her eyes. When he didn’t answer, she slowly let herself see him. He hadn’t moved. His long fingers were still carefully folded behind him and he looked as content as a monument to stand there in the cold snow, staring out into the dark. Though, vaguely, she thought she noticed a tension in his hands, a tightness in the tendons of his wrist.

“To what end?” He asked quietly.

Isala swallowed. “Pardon?”

The taller elf turned to face her then. His expression was polite, curious even. “For what purpose would you erase those moments?”

The Inquisitor’s mouth opened, then closed. Her lips tightened before she tucked in the top lip between her teeth; thinking. The answer seemed obvious and yet, Solas’ question gave her pause. His responses often did.

“To make different choices, I suppose. To make things better than they are now.”

He took a step toward her then. A single step that barely touched the snow and yet the weight in his gaze was so heavy, Isala felt as if he should have sank below the white, powdery surface like a stone. It took nearly everything she had not to flinch beneath the heavy steel of his eyes.

“And how can you know that the alternative choice is a better one?” He was suddenly so interested in her response, she felt herself shift under the scrutiny of his stare.

She opened her mouth but no sound would come out. Isala swallowed, unsure. She couldn’t look at Solas directly. For an instant she thought of all the lives that had already been lost since she became Inquisitor. Surely there had to have been better choices. Choices that didn’t end in bloodshed and death. Choices where no one got hurt and everyone was happy.

Isala shook her head. She kept shaking it and felt tears start to freeze on her cheeks. Loose strands of her pale, almost white, hair obscured her face. She hadn’t meant to cry, but it was as if she held no power over it. Like so many things these days, she was helpless to stop it.

“I don’t…” she admitted bitterly.

The Dalish elf brushed her hair and tears away with the edge of her cloak before risking the depths of those intelligent eyes once more. Solas was still watching her, but there was no judgement in his gaze. No, it was something closer to understanding, a kind of empathy Isala hadn’t expected. As if the older elf had asked himself the same question and had been met with the same empty reply.

Solas knelt before her and she reflexively straightened against the stone, though it caused her to wince as pain lanced through her wounds. The bare-faced elf stared up at her and she swallowed back her tears fighting to hide the discomfort on her face.

“How are you healing?” He asked and Isala relaxed ever-so-slightly at the change in subject.

“I’m fine.” She lied

Solas ignored her forced response, his hands already hovering over the bandages covering her feet and legs. She could feel warmth radiating from his long fingers, even though he did not touch her directly. There was a kind of hum that brushed against her and she felt the magic slumbering beneath the surface of her skin begin to stir. Her magic responded to him like fire drawn to burning wood. The flames longed to combine into something larger and more powerful than either could be alone.

Isala felt her breath hitch in an involuntary gasp as Solas pulled back the smallest edge of one bandage and peered at the raw flesh beneath.

“These wounds were meant for me.” He murmured thoughtfully.

“I don’t think that demon cared who caught the brunt of that whip, Solas.” She meant it lightly, but there was something very serious in the way he was holding her ankle.

“May I?” He asked softly and Isala knew she’d tell him yes.

She nodded an instant before she felt that humming warmth begin to spread along her foot and up her leg. She’d already had healers cast minor spells to numb the pain and quicken the process of the skin regrowing, but this was something different. This felt like the biting of insects followed by a balm of warmth that sank down into the very bones of her toes.

Isala opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. A faint blue-green light was fading from Solas’ hands where they hovered over her legs. The air smelled of ozone and herbs, like a thunderstorm above a meadow. The Dalish felt her stomach do a little flip as the magic receded.

“That should provide some measure of relief.” He stood effortlessly and Isala tested her own weight on the balls of her feet. When the stinging sensations of the fresh burns did not immediately follow, she risked standing up from the stone she’d been seated in. There was a familiar ache in her side and along her hip, but gone was the sharp stab of pain. It was manageable. In fact, it felt weeks old rather than mere hours.

“Creators how did you…” she was smiling, grinning, clenching her toes in the snow without pain. “Solas, this is amazing. Thank---” His thumb caressed the scab that marred her chin and she choked on the last of her words.

The dreams had only been dreams. Fleeting moments in the dark. Thoughts and desires they shared but never spoke of, never acted on. They weren’t real. They hadn’t really happened. They were just dreams…

_But for mages..._

“This should have been stitched.” He was focused, his eyes dark and fixated on a single point. Isala knew he was inspecting the wound, but it felt like he was staring at her mouth and her lips parted absently.

“It’s fine.” She murmured, but her voice was thick.

“It will scar.” He retorted, his thumb tracing the old blood.

“Wouldn’t be the first one.”

The storm of his irises flicked to hers. “You _want_ it then?”

Isala licked her lips, feeling strange, like she was answering a different question. “No.”

She saw the edge of Solas’ mouth twitch in a kind of approval and then there was light; warm and tranquil. That same blue-green haze concentrated on that thin line cutting down her chin. She felt the biting, tingling sensation for only an instant this time before warmth spread through the wound. More than all of this, though, she felt the press of Solas’ hand cupping her cheek, his thumb guiding the magic and when it faded she stumbled back. Her hand instinctively touching the spot on her chin, finding nothing but smooth, warm flesh beneath.

Solas’ magic had always been something of a mystery for the Dalish mage. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. It reminded her, at times, of the wild magic of elven mages, but it was controlled in a way that even circle mages had no hope to mimic. She had watched him on the battlefield on many occasions and it was like watching a tidal wave. It was dangerous and beautiful in the same bated breath.

Much like the bare-faced elf that wielded it.

“ _Ma serannas._ ” The words were a cloud of white murmured from her lips.

Solas bowed his head ever so slightly and slipped past her and toward the encampment without another word, as if he’d already accomplished everything he’d ventured there to do.

Still touching the freshly healed spot on her chin, her mind a jumble of questions with no answers, Isala had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still over at tumblr @breathing2nd if you want to follow or chat. I don't reblog very much, but I will totally chat with you beautiful people! ^.^


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